This Means War
by mak324
Summary: Instead of a lonely and depressed Willow, a freshly chipped (and clueless) Spike finds himself face to face with a feverish Slayer on the night he first escapes The Initiative. Challenge response.
1. Chapter 1

Of all the different ways I'd envisioned tonight going, none of them had included this. Me, in the dorm, by myself. At 9:30.

On a Saturday.

 _And_ on my night off. God, I shouldn't even be surprised at this point. This is pretty much par for the course for this year. Isn't college supposed to be like the best years of your life or something? So far, I'm not seeing it. Sometimes it kinda feels like the PTB and Angel and my professors and the roommate from hell and the Parkers of the world all got together and made big with the make-Buffy-miserable assembling. For someone who's supposed to be the Chosen One, I feel like all I'm ever "chosen" for is the short end of the stick.

Like tonight. Tonight was supposed to be about pulling Willow out of the Oz-shaped hole she's been sinking steadily into over the last few weeks. Tonight was supposed to be about her dealing, me helping, and both of us finding a way to battle back against the Freshman year slump I keep seeing artfully cartooned posters about in the dorm bathrooms. I mean, no, I'm not sure what _exactly_ I'd expected to happen tonight, but I don't think I'd ever considered that Willow might manage to have more fun at a party than I would.

But that's pretty much what had happened.

Granted, no, me getting sick hadn't been super high up on the list of fun and exciting weekend-in-college activities either, but still. The whole _me_ helping thing had kinda gone out the window when I'd spotted Willow chatting so comfortably on the sofa with our psych TA, the two of them looking like they were deeply involved in discussing… something. I'd never gotten close enough to eavesdrop, and when I'd come by to tell them both that I wasn't feeling too whippy and had planned on heading back to the dorm, they'd both sort of…clammed up.

So I'd dropped it, giving Willow a curious look and asking if she was ready to go, too. She hadn't been, which had been surprising and if I'm being honest, a little disappointing. It's not like I'd been jonesing for a night in all alone, and the fact that she clearly hadn't been needing me to have a good time had kind of stung. But she had seemed relaxed, almost happy, and in the end that had been the point in us going to the party to begin with… so I'd told her I'd see her back at home later and left.

That had been almost two hours ago, and now I'm slowly going out of my mind.

Looking back, I guess I could have stayed at Lowell House. It wasn't that the party had been _bad_ , exactly. But it hadn't been all laughs a plenty, either. Too many drunk pseudo frat boys, not enough good music, and I hadn't been lying when I'd told Willow and Riley that I hadn't been feeling great. Actually, I hadn't been feeling fully myself for a few days before I'd decided to take Willow to the party tonight.

Slayer healing doesn't make me immune to catching the common cold, and my slayage skills only go so far when fighting the fever demon.

Which is kinda lame, but oh so true.

Thus, the lameness that is me, lounging in my PJs stomach down on my lumpy dorm mattress and reading a two-year-old People magazine at 9:30 on a Saturday night on my one night off.

And I'm bored. Like, _majorly_ bored. The stomach churning aside, and the slight aching in my muscles that I know has to be from more than just my fight last night, my _brain_ won't shut off. Won't even slow down. Being here by myself, no one to talk to, no vampires to slay— it's given me way too much time to think, which has been brining me dangerously close to self reflection, which somehow always leads down the path of Angel which is a place of badness that I spend a lot of energy trying to avoid.

Now would be a really great time to leave and go slay something. Even with the sickness that I know is taking root in my body, I want to move. Stretch until the aching disappears and expel some of the restless energy that I know is probably going to bottom out, zapped from my muscles by this fever any time now.

I think about this for a minute. I guess I _could_ hit the cemeteries, if I wanted to. If I really wanted to. God, I'm sure _that_ would go over just peachy with Giles. Especially after my little show earlier, demanding the night off to try and cheer Willow up.

I bite down onto my lip and consider that option, flipping the magazine shut and rubbing my fuzzy-sock clad feet together behind me.

Xander and Giles are already out in the cemeteries patrolling, anyway. Would have been whether I'd gotten sick and left the party early or not. Apart from agreeing to let me take Willow to that party in the first place, my Watcher had been the one to first to suspect that I might be coming down with something. Maybe a cold, he'd assumed, when he'd heard the slight catch in my voice earlier today. I'd denied it. Being sick, kind of like taking nights off, isn't exactly something they cover in the Slayer handbook, and except for that wicked flu that almost killed me during the whole Angelus debacle, I haven't been even close to being that sick since.

And I _had_ really wanted to go to that party.

But the runny nose tells all, and of course Giles had been right. Although, judging from the slow building waves of nausea rumbling through my tummy, I'd venture a pretty solid guess that what I'm coming down with now is more than a cold. Though I'll deny it until the end, and I'll never admit to Giles he'd been right.

I roll over onto my back, letting the magazine slide down to the floor with a soft thudding sound and resting my head in the folds of my comforter at the foot of my bed. Lifting my feet up to press them into the headboard, I stretch out the growing tightness in my calves and eye my long, striped socks. I have them bunched loosely around my ankles now, but with the cool air of the AC vent kicking on, I'm tempted to pull them up to their full knee height glory for the extra warmth.

Another shudder races through my back, and I shiver, turning my head to glance at my open dresser drawer and contemplating pulling out my thickest pair of sweatpants to replace the flannel boxer shorts I'd put on when I'd first gotten home, flushed from the walk back from Lowell House. The only problem with that is I know I'm feeling a little chilled now, but it's only a matter of time before the fever crests and I'll be boiling up all over again.

I frown, trying to remember if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Are you supposed to sweat fevers out, or cool them down? I can't remember. Mom always knew that stuff so I never really had to deal with it. If Mom had been home tonight and not off buying more creepy tribal art for the gallery, I could have just gone home tonight and let her take care of this dumb cold.

Or whatever it is.

If I'm honest with myself, I'm starting to get the sinking feeling that this _definitely_ is more than just a cold and mild fever combination. If the full body chills I keep trying to ignore haven't given it away by now, then the sudden hot flushing in my cheeks that hits me out of nowhere is trying hard to. It's been a long time since I remember being sick, like _really_ sick, but I'm not quite so stubborn as to not see the signs when they're flashing, neon and bright right in front of me.

Still, I hate it, especially now with my head still spinning, going 100 miles a minute and my body unable to do anything much other than lay here like a lump.

Seems I've finally hit that energy crash I knew would be coming.

With a long, drawn out sigh, I try to go back to ignoring the chills that are creeping up my sweatshirt covered arms and stretch them out in front of me, listening for the tell-tale cracking of my back as I arch up off the bed. And then I let all my muscles go lax, letting my feet flop limply over the side of the mattress.

On top of the muscle achies from the rapidly strengthening mystery illness, my arms are still a little on the sore side from the scuffle I'd had early yesterday morning. One massive Chirago demon too many. I lift my right hand up and knead my left bicep, wincing a little and wonder dimly what Giles would think about a Slayer allowance for massages.

I catch a glance at my chipped pink nail polish as I retract my hand, and frown.

 _Or manicures._

I drop my hand back down, letting the muscles in my arm relax into the mattress and trying to remember what types of medicine I have over in the cabinet under the sink that might work double duty— reduce my fever _and_ get rid of the muscle aches.

I force myself to sit up, ignoring the fuzziness in my head and stretching forward to press the play button on Willow's portable CD player, grimacing at the melancholy sounds the float to me from the CD she's been playing. I switch it over to FM and flip it to some random radio station, waiting until I've found a song with a less depressing tempo before pushing myself up to my feet, hoping the upbeat party tune might convince my body that I am in fact not sick.

It doesn't work. I can feel the tightness everywhere now, that uncomfortable, twitchy ache, and little creeping goose bumps bubbling up all along my arms and legs as I push myself to a standing position and begin to move across the room, aiming for the cabinet in the sink where I store my toiletries.

I hum along absently to the melody I recognize, the lyrics I don't, and bend down to peer into the bottom cabinet, ignoring the way the position causes the blood to rush into my cheeks, making my head throb and my face flush hotter than before.

I'd forgotten my first aid kit in the initial move and had been too lazy to pick it up the last time I'd gone home, but I know Mom sent some Tylenol or _something_ with me when I moved in…

I don't hear it the first time. The music's too loud.

But the second time, yeah. I hear it.

A knock.

The unmistakable sound of someone knocking on my dorm room door. I frown, brow furrowing, and pop my head up to stare at the wood as though it's said something offensive. I run through the list of people it might be. Not Willow— this is her room, she'd just come right in. Not Xander— he's patrolling, which means it isn't probably Giles either. Mom's out of town this weekend for work.

I guess it could just be another girl from down the hall, needing to borrow something. Or, I mean, this is college right? Maybe it's some other lame Saturday-night-in-the-dorm dweller who's heard my music and wants to hang?

It's kinda too bad I'm being all under the weathery, because under other circumstances I wouldn't have minded a little company.

I clear my throat, still standing with my hands in my desk drawer and raise my voice to be heard above the music. "Who is it?"

I wait for a minute, listening hard. No answer.

Now that _is_ weird.

Maybe it's just being the Slayer that's made me this way, but I've grown increasingly paranoid over the past few years. Not that I don't have a reason to be, but sometimes I think I might let my imagination get the best of me.

So I'm probably being silly now. Probably halfway imagining the faint tinglies that I think I'm getting. It's probably nothing. _And even if it isn't,_ I remind myself dismissively, _I have that bag of weapons under my bed, if I need it._

Straightening, shaking my wiggins off and telling myself that I'm just being a silly Slayer, I move toward the door and unlock it. Wrapping my hand around the cool metal of the handle and twisting, I exhale as I yank the door wide open.

I don't know whatI'd expected, what I'd convinced myself I'd find when I'd decided to open the door. But it isn't what I see now. My vamp tingles fire, shooting down my spine, my hand gripping the flimsy faux wood of the door even harder.

No. Of all the different ways I'd envisioned tonight going, none of them had included _this_.

Him.

 _Spike._

* * *

She hadn't been expecting me.

That much is right bloody obvious from the start. Eyes widening, black pupils swallowing up the green of her irises as she finally seems to register who and what it is she's seein'. I can hear her blood, too. Hot and loud in her veins. Pulse hammerin' away, throbbin' visibly in the hollow of her throat.

 _Good._

I watch her, letting a slow, deliberate smirk twist the corner of my mouth as she stands there, gaping at me.

"Hi, honey," I purr, watching her eyes widen even further. Whether in fear, or genuine shock, I'm not certain yet. Not that it matters. Either one bodes well for me. "I'm home."

The little bitch is quick, I'll give her that. One second she's staring wide eyed at me, a regular deer caught in the sodding headlights, and the next she's using that iron tight grip of hers to try and slam the door shut in my face.

Yeah, she's quick. I'm quicker.

For tonight, anyway.

I slide my foot forward into the door frame the second I see her hand tighten on the wood, letting my boot take the brunt of her attempt to close me out. Chuckling low in my throat, I reach up, lay both my palms flat against the top edge of the door and shove.

Hard.

I don't know which sound is more satisfying, honestly. The sharp crack of the wooden veneer as it crashes back with just the right amount of force into that stupid, upturned nose of hers, or the sharp cry of pain that follows immediately after.

Both of 'em do their fair share of makin' me a little giddy.

Then again, so does the look of confusion and…what I'm _sincerely_ hopin' is terror all over the silly chit's face as she stumbles backward from the force of the door. She watches me, eyes widening and dilating further as I step through the doorway. She's pressing one hand to her nose, catching herself sloppily with the other against what I assume— from the overwhelming scent of _Slayer_ — is her bed.

Delicious.

"What's the matter, Slayer," I bite out, voice smooth and low and just a touch, just the _right_ amount, of condescending as I step fully through the doorway, gripping the edge of the door in my right hand. "You don't seem too tickled to see me."

The Slayer is still starin' at me, though she's managed now to get herself back to her feet. That same look of confusion still warring on her face, her heart racin', blood pulsing in her veins a million bloody miles a minute.

"How…" she stammers out, dragging her hand away from that silly little nose and forcing herself into a half assed fighting stance. Her eyes narrow on me, and she seems to regain a crumb of that laser-like focus I remember so well. "I didn't invite you in."

 _Christ_.

I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Dozy bint really thinks I need an invite into a ruddy _dorm_ room?

Bloody hell, does that Watcher of hers teach her anythin' about vamps? it's a sodding miracle she's lived as long as she has.

I have half a mind to tell her so. Would, too, if the scent of her blood didn't take this very second to tickle the air, makin' me freeze in place. Her nose. It's bleeding. Not a lot, mind you, but just enough to make my throat burn. Remind me why it is I'm here.

"'S true," I concede instead, cocking my head to the side and raking my eyes over her in a shameless appraisal of her body. Lingering a half second longer than I need to on the tops of her thighs before finding her eyes again. Rufflin' her feathers. I can see the blood pooling in her cheeks even as she brings her tiny fists up in front of her body. "Would appear that I don't need one."

I take one more big step into the room, slamming the door shut behind me for emphasis.

And, _God_ , if isn't fucking delicious to watch her jump at the sound. But the Slayer's eyes aren't on me now. They're dartin' around the room in a blind panic, still wide, still dilated. Just the smallest tad unfocused, too. Probably searchin' for something, anything, to use as a weapon. I'm sure she has a weapons chest in here somewhere.

All I have to do is get to her before she gets to it.

Sink my fangs into her throat and drain her dry. Leave her bruised and broken body here for those ridiculous little friends of hers to find. Be done with it, once and for all.

 _And then this whole sodding nightmare will be_ over _._

Fueled by that thought, by the near blinding rage that accompanies it, I let the bones in my face shift and lean forward into my own predatory stance.

We move in the same instant. She leaps backward, whirling around and diving beneath her bed just as I growl and lunge toward her. But again, for the second time tonight, I'm faster than she is. Usually, this isn't the case. More often than not this Slayer and I've been evenly matched, or she's been just one step ahead. Under other circumstances, I might have stopped, wondered for half a mo if something here might be different. Might have bothered to notice the slightly _off_ scent emanating from her skin.

But not tonight. There's no room for thoughts like that tonight.

She's diving underneath her bed, her back to me, when I catch her. My arms band around her waist in an instant, pinning hers down hard so they're flattened ineffectively to her sides and dragging her slight body back hard against my chest.

If I'd been expecting her to beg for her life, I'd have been real bloody disappointed. If I'd been hoping for that, or hoping for more of a struggle. If I'd had any other thought goin' through my bleeding mind other than simply wanting to _end_ her, the whole night would've been a bust.

Good thing I hadn't.

Because the girl doesn't say a word. Not one _sodding_ word. No quick-witted quips, no inane insults. Not a _please_ , or _a don't do this_ , or even a _you'll never get away with this_. Nothing.

She struggles briefly in my arms before her muscles seem to melt into me, and she goes still for about two seconds before her small frame is suddenly wracked with shivers. Involuntary shudders coursing through her body, causing me to tighten my grasp, but that's it. And it's not even from fear. I don't smell fear on her anywhere, actually.

 _Plannin' to take it like the warrior she is._

Again, if I'd expected anything less, it might have been enough to stop me. To hold out until I could force her to beg for her life, revel in her fear, relish in the sound of those choked, strangled sobs I think I've imagined a thousand times over by now.

But I'm not here for that, and I know it.

"Well," I say, dropping my voice down low, leaning down so that the tip of my right fang is directly beside her ear. "'S been fun, Slayer."

The funniest part? Sod all if I don't actually _mean_ it. It _has b_ een fun. She'd certainly made my unlife more interestin'. Not always for the better, sure, but I have a real hard time believing the next one's goin' to be half as exciting as she'd been.

Oh, well.

I shift slightly, dragging my mouth away from her ear and down, ghosting it along the curve of her neck until my lips are right above her throbbing jugular. She might not be strugglin', but I can feel her pulse here. How wild, how fast it's goin'.

God, my mouth is waterin' just being this close.

 _Finally._

All that power, all that promise making hunger flare deep in my gut, my throat burning all over again. Vanilla and strawberry and something else, something...overly sweet. Not just the usual sweetness of her blood, either.

It's siren call is there, too, yeah, but it...no, this scent is different. Thicker. Hotter. Completely intoxicating.

And I've waited bloody long enough.

I open my mouth and let loose a wild growl, bending my head further to spear the wildly pulsing, pounding jugular vein in her throat on the tip of my fangs. The Slayer inhales sharply, holding her breath and waitin' for the death bite.

My fangs just barely nick her skin, and everything explodes around me.

* * *

Spike lets go. Spike lets go of me.

I don't know why, can't fathom what he's doing, but his arms release me so suddenly I actually go flying forward, crashing into my bedside table and knocking over my lamp.

It's the undeniably inhuman wail of pain that has me whirling around, staring at him with wide, shocked eyes.

I'd been about to die. He'd been about to kill me.

 _Actually_ kill me.

After all the years, all the threats, all the attempts that had been of the majorly unsuccessfully variety. Spike, the self-proclaimed Slayer of Slayers, had been about to _kill_ me. It had been about to happen. It had taken me next to no time at all to noodle out that there would be no way, none, for me to fight him off. Not now. Not with the fever hitting it's stride and me growing weaker by the second.

I had literally just been about to die. Right here, in my dorm room. In my personal space. I hadn't felt so totally powerless since the night in the Hellmouth with the Master.

Spike had _had_ me.

And Spike had let me go.

 _Why?_

My hand flies reflexively to my throat, covering the Master's mark as I watch Spike fall to his knees, gripping his forehead in both of his hands and gasping for air he doesn't need.

And my thoughts are racing, jumbled, swirling in my head so fast I barely have time to think one before the next is whipping up.

Is that it? Could he not bite me there because of the Master's mark? Is this some…wiggy vampire, bloodline thing?

Spike is from the same line, right? I think that's what Giles told me.

He'd been sired by Dru, so yeah, that's right.

So is that it? Is this a thing I didn't know about?

And why I'm not jumping at this opportunity, why I'm not diving for the bag of weapons that's just barely visible from beneath the ruffle of my comforter, I don't know.

Shock? Nausea? My fever addled brain?

Or maybe I just want answers.

"What…" I begin slowly, my voice sounding strained as I drop my hand away from my throat, eyeing the vampire in front of me on the floor. "What the _hell_ was that?"

Spike looks up at me, like maybe for a moment he'd forgotten where he was. That I've been standing here. His expression is tense, pained, but he seems to come back to himself a little as he registers my presence.

"Dunno," he growls, the pained expression melting away as his demon's feral eyes narrow on me. I watch as he braces his hands on the ground and leaps back up to his feet. "Why don't you tell me."

I step back on instinct, for some reason that I can't even begin to fathom,in the direction _away_ from my bag of stakes.

And I have just enough time to realize what I've done before Spike's flying toward me again, snarling, fangs bared. He doesn't get nearly as close on this attempt, though, because my right hand shoots out and catches him hard across the jaw, sending him stumbling backward until he crashes into the corner of my desk.

And now I _do_ dive for my weapons bag, scrambling as quickly as I can, unsure how long my punch will have kept Spike incapacitated.

Which, as it turns out, is not long.

He's up again, already on his feet by the time I drop to my knees in front of the bag and dig for the first pointy piece of wood I can find.

I wrap my hands firmly around a stake and leap to my feet, brandishing it in front of me, wondering how much easier all this would be if I was feeling fully up to Slayer snuff. As it happens, I'm not so sure I'm not about to lose the apple and frozen yogurt I'd eaten for lunch all over Spike's stupid leather coat.

God, does he ever wear _anything_ else?

He lunges for me and I side-step him, dancing out of the way so we switch sides. My back to the door, his to sliver of wall visible between Willow and my two nightstands. He throws a wild, frustrated punch at me and I manage to block it weakly with my left arm, using my right to propel the stake in my hand toward his heart.

But my aim is off. Whether it's the sickness creeping through my muscles, the fever making my head fuzzy, or something else…I don't know.

What I _do_ know is that Spike catches my hand, stopping the tip of my stake as it's barely an inch from pressing its way through the fabric of his shirt, into the center of his chest. He growls, inhaling deeply, and I watch the cat like pupils dilate until the yellow is nearly swallowed. Cool, strong fingers wrapping around my wrist and snapping it back so quickly that I almost forget to cry out.

Almost.

I gasp in pain, my fingers immediately releasing the stake and letting it clatter to the carpet at my feet, the heavy end I'd been gripping smashing into my toe as it does. I hardly notice.

I'm too busy watching Spike, his demon guise contorting in a fresh wave of pain as he snarls and releases my wrist as though my skin has been doused in Holy Water.

It lasts only a moment, just long enough for him to gather his strength and come at me full force again, fangs gleaming in the dim lamplight. Aiming once more for the hollow of my throat.

Finding myself for the second time tonight weaponless and weak, I throw my hands up to shield myself from the worst of it, hurriedly wracking my fogged out brain for another way out of this.

But it doesn't matter.

Spike barely gets near me this time before he's crying out again, reeling backward, clutching violently at his head and tearing platinum hair loose from the gel that slicks it back.

Maybe if I hadn't been sick I'd have realized it sooner, what I think it is that's happening. That he seems to get hurt every time he lunges for my throat.

It's like...well, it's like he _can't_ bite me. Like something happens to him every time he tries.

Definitely of the not normal.

 _What exactly is happening here?_

* * *

 _What the bloody buggering_ fuck _is happenin' to me?_

It's the only coherent thought goin' through my head now. Everything else is dimmed, drowned out by the searing waves of pain radiating through my skull.

Three times now. Three times I've felt this violent, blinding pain…and all in the last sodding minute and a half.

It's her. The Slayer. Fuck, it _has_ to be.

Why else would I not be able to bite the little bitch?

"What did you _do_ to me?" I hiss, one hand cradling my temple, staggering backward until my legs come in contact with one of the small tables between the beds.

And the stupid bint has the nerve to look at me like she has no buggering clue what I'm talkin' about. Her eyes are wide, hair a tangle of golden waves from our brief struggle as she coddles the wrist I've just broken.

"Me?" she asks, having the gal to sound incredulous, her voice pitching high. Lookin' more confused than I think I've ever seen her, which is sayin' something. Furrowed brow. Heaving chest. Doe eyes.

 _Bitch._

"Yes, you," I counter heatedly, lowering my voice to a deadly murmur. "Figure you would know the reason why I can't seem to lay a bloody _finger_ on you."

She stares blankly at me, eyes hazy. Glazed over. She blinks once, like it's a struggle for her just to make sense of what I'm sayin'. "What?"

Oh, for the love of….have I been the only one _here_ for the last five minutes?

"In case you haven't noticed," I growl, temper flaring, growing angrier by the second. "I've tried three different times now to rip your goddamn throat out and I _can't_."

And then, driven by some impulse that I can't even begin to explain, I race forward and make like I'm about to bite her again. She tenses up but doesn't move away. Doesn't make a move to hit me, either. Or to shield herself.

So a part of her must have already riddled it out by now that I can't do it. Can't bite her. _Can't_ hurt her at all without gettin' myself one hell of a migraine.

As if on cue, the rippling shockwaves of pain start up again. This time, my fangs hadn't even gotten _near_ her throat. I stumble back again, howling in a truly undignified manner and breathing heavily, sucking in long gulps of useless air.

And that's when I finally _do_ smell it, let myself notice it. Figure out exactly what that other, thicker scent had been I'd smelled coming off the Slayer before. Besides the rich tang of her blood and the faintly strawberry-like tickle of her shampoo in the back of my throat.

I can practically taste it now. The heat of her skin radiating toward me like a bloody furnace from three feet away, the scent of the fever in the sickly sweet, vanilla scented room.

Slayer's sick.

No wonder she hadn't fought me off.

It also explains that glazed look in her eye as she stares at me now, muscles still tense, pulse still poundin' away.

That's when I remember it. What that other vampire had said to me earlier, before I'd escaped. That he'd been runnin' from the Slayer, blacked out, wound up in the cagey thing with those white coats all around. Same thing had happened to me.

And now _I_ can't bite the chit.

The muscle in my jaw tenses as I grit my teeth, finally putting two and two together. It's gotta be a spell or some rot. Some kind of…protection spell she's puttin' on all the nasties in Sunnyhell to keep herself all safe and sound-like.

Clever.

Wouldn't have pegged her for the clever type.

A tiny surge of respect niggles at me in the back of my brain, but I shove it down, easily beating it back with the sweltering rage I can feel burning hot behind my eyes.

"You," I accuse, my voice deadly. "You _did_ somethin' to me." I stab an accusing finger at the Slayer. "When I was holed up in that cell of yours."

Another feverish, blank stare. "What are you talking about?" she asks me, cradling her wrist closer to her chest and taking a measured step away from me. "What cell?"

I sneer at her. "What d'you mean, what cell? The bloody cell I was caged up in for the past three days." At the Slayer's blank stare, I feel my temper start to rage. God, I want to snap her pretty little neck. "White walls. Tile floor. Shoots drugged-up blood packets out the sodding ceiling?"

And that's just bloody _brilliant_. Now she's lookin' at me like I'm the fevered one here. Like she has no fuckin' clue what I'm on about.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says, eyes flitting from my face down to the stake she'd dropped earlier and back up again. Tryin' to figure how fast she'll need to move to beat me to it, I'd wager. "I didn't even know you were back."

 _Ooo, right. Like I'm supposed to bloody believe tha—._

"You've been locked up in a cage for three days?" she asks me suddenly, frowning, her nose wrinklin' up. Like she's only just now figured somethin' important out.

I raise a sardonic brow in her direction, the words leaving my lips on a harsh question. "Did I stutter?" I scoff, sneering at her and tilting my head back in the general direction I think I've come from. "Just escaped not five hours ago."

A beat. Then, and her voice sounds funny to me, "And you think _I_ put you there?"

A growl rumbles from my chest before I can stop it, eyes narrowing dangerously on the insufferable little blonde standing across from me. "There's nobody else."

The Slayer narrows her eyes at me, but she's still thinkin' about something. We stand here for a while just gawping at each other until she finally asks me "How'd you get there?"

"I…" I trail off, the scathing remark, sharp retort catching on my tongue. It's a good question. How _did_ I get there?

I stare back at the Slayer, watching the green in her eyes flicker with a smug looking realization as the seconds drag on and I have yet to answer her.

Bloody hell, how did I get there?

Oh, sod all. I can't fucking remember.

"There were people," I say finally, planting my hands on my hips and drumming my fingers against my jeans. I find myself looking away from her, but not because she's proven a point or anythin'. Just…because. "And…an electric shock."

That much I _do_ remember.

The Slayer makes a face at me and leans back on her heels, raising a skeptical eyebrow. There's a thin sheen of sweat forming on her brow, the trembling in her limbs barely disguised by the way she holds her arm to her chest. I can still smell it, too.

Fever's gettin' worse.

"And why would I shock you instead of, say…dusting you?" she asks me haughtily, false bravado coloring the words. She's trying so damned hard to put on a face for me. Like she isn't in pain. Like whatever it is that's ailing her isn't gettin' worse by the second. It'd almost be admirable if I didn't hate her so bloody much.

But the bitch has a point.

 _Bugger._

"Dunno," I say, rolling my shoulders back and finally letting the demon fall away, feeling my bones shift to bring my human face forward again. A thought occurs to me then, and I cock my head to the side, smirking in that smug way I knowbrasses her off. "Why haven't you dusted me tonight?"

 _Ha!_ That one has her mouth opening and snapping shut real quick, lips forming a hard, thin line.

* * *

 _Stupid vampire_.

Stupid, logical, making with the good point vampire.

And if I had half as much strength as I'd need to to do it, I'd punch that stupid know-it-all smirk right off his face and into last week. It's not like I don't know what he's doing, but it makes me mad anyway. Two can play at this game, though, even if I'm a little slower on the uptake.

"Well, I _was_ trying to get to the bottom of whatever it is that's going on with you, but fine." I reach over to my wooden desk chair and brace my hand on one of the legs, kicking it roughly until it splinters off in my hand and forms a makeshift stake. I ignore the shooting pain in my right wrist, holding it tightly in my left hand and fighting to control the tremors shooting down my back. Praying to whatever Powers might be listening that weren't in make-Buffy-miserable attendance that the vampire hasn't noticed how off my game I seem.

I tilt my head to side and offer my biggest, fakest, all sugar smile. "Have it your way."

Spike steps back, bumping one more time into my nightstand and putting both hands out in front of him. "Hey now," he says, all traces of the smirk suddenly gone. "Let's just…hold on a bloody second." I lower the chair leg immediately, relieved to not have to hold the pretense longer than necessary.

Things grow freakily quiet in my room. Well, aside from the peppy music still filtering in from Willow's CD player which somehow hasn't gotten knocked over or turned off in all the ruckus. It might be a little softer now, though.

Spike stares at me hard for a long minute. I stare back. This is the longest I think we've ever stood in a room together where we haven't been A) trying to kill each other or B) plotting to kill my ex-boyfriend. And thus, this might be the longest minute in the history of ever.

Finally, Spike seems to decide on whatever it is he's been deciding and cocks his head to the side, narrowing blue eyes on me. "You really don't know what's going on?"

I let my left arm drop all the way down to my side, fingers loosening around the wooden chair leg, unable to hold it in even the semi-raised position any more. God, I need medicine. I need painkillers. I need...well, honestly, I could do with a cuddle session with Mr. Gordo right about now.

But it can wait. It'll have to.

"For the however many-eth time," I say, forcing my voice to remain steady, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. " _No_."

The vampire's eyes flash and he takes a menacing step toward me. "Mmhm," he almost purrs, lashes sweeping down then up again. "And how do I know you aren't just lyin' to me?"

The tone of his voice, the body language, the threat he's trying so hard to imply all fall tragically flat. He isn't going to do anything to me, and we both know it. We both know that he _can't_. I've seen it enough times tonight now to know that much. For whatever reason, it isn't physically possible right now for him to bite me. Or hurt me at all, I'm guessing, if the reaction he'd had after snapping my wrist meant anything.

So, sure, I could stake him right now. Be done with it.

But I'd be lying if I pretend my curiosity isn't just the slightest bit piqued, and I don't think…no, I _know_ I don't have the energy right now. Whatever illness I have is getting worse by the second, and all the energy I have is being spent making sure Spike doesn't realize that.

And besides all those other good reasons, Giles will probably want to see whatever's controlling Spike in action.

And yeah, okay, maybe it's the fever talking...but I feel like there are more reasons to _not_ stake the bleached menace right now than there are _to_ stake him.

I think I'm very tired.

"Not that I care what you think of me," I tell him, affecting my best Slayer sneer and narrowing my eyes. "But I'm _not_ lying. Being the Slayer is a one-person gig, Spike. Besides, what you're talking about sounds…complicated." I cast a cautious glance down to the ground, mulling as coherently as I can over everything he's told me about what's happened to him. "Definitely a multi-player operation."

And by multiplayer, I'm thinking more firepower than us Scoobies are packing, because if we'd found a way to effectively neuter vampires by now, I'd be out a job.

The vampire blinks at me, dark brows knitting together. "You sayin' there's someone else in this miserable town who's in on the demon fightin' biz?"

I nod. "Looks like."

"Fan- _fucking_ -tastic," Spike growls, whirling around and slamming his booted toe hard into my nightstand, sending my lamp finally toppling all the way over and crashing to the floor.

I don't even have the energy to yell at him about it.

 _Fever_ , I think lamely, another chill shooting it's way from the tips of my hair down to my toes. _Has to be the fever._

That, and I'm using all my mental energy to figure out what could possibly be going on here. Someone else is in the business of demon dealing here in Sunnydale. Someone who has a lot of manpower, and a lot of resources. The means to take down and kidnap a vamp as old and powerful as Spike. Access to a facility to hold him in. And the know how to perform…some kind of anti-harming spell on him. And, knowing it wasn't me that put the spell on him in the first place, I have to assume the effects of said spell extend to more people than just me. Probably to everybody with a pulse.

But that still doesn't explain to me what it is, and still doesn't tell me who's doing it, or why. Why fight demons only to…handicap them, and throw them back out into the wild? Wouldn't it be better, and easier, just to finish them off and be done with it?

Unless the goal isn't to stop them at all, but to…rehabilitate them? Whatever it is that's keeping Spike from being able to hurt me had obviously caused him a lot of pain. Each time he'd tried, something had happened. Something focused somewhere in his head.

Hadn't we studied this? Something…in Professor Walsh's class. Conditioning? Positive reinforcement versus negative reinforcement. Like snapping a rubber band on your wrist every time you think about something you aren't supposed to. Which so doesn't work, because I'd tried it after the Parker incident and all it had done was give me some nasty welts and left me with a pile of broken rubber bands.

So maybe not conditioning, or rehab. The end game could be something much simpler. Experimentation.

If what the blonde vampire has told me is the truth, then they hadn't let him out— he'd _escaped_. Which means to me that whatever it is they've done to him to prevent him from hurting me, hurting people, has to be something they'd planned on testing out.

My eyes light on the vampire in question, who's still watching me intently. Curiously. It's kind of wigging me out. I don't think I've ever seen him look at me with anything other than hatred.

"What else can you tell me?" I ask, shifting back to rest my butt on the top of my desk, suddenly aware of how shaky my legs have become. I'm still clutching my makeshift stake, though I know with a kind of certainty that only comes with this level of exhaustion that at this point I won't be using it. Couldn't probably, even if I wanted to.

My stomach rolls again.

The vampire regards me warily for a very long moment before shaking his head. "Not much. Didn't pay a lot of attention."

The snort happens before I can stop it. "Gee, that was smart."

Blue eyes flash again, and he does step toward me this time. Hands curled into fists at his sides, muscle in his jaw clenching hard. He has a tenuous hold on his temper, and knowing there's pretty much nothing he can do about it leaves me with a just shy of zero desire to keep myself from igniting his fuse.

Like, the way he's looking at me now. It'd probably be menacing if I didn't know he couldn't _do_ anything about it. His nostrils flare and his expression darkens further. "Well, I thought it was you, didn't I?"

As if that explains everything.

"But it wasn't," I remind him snidely, wanting pretty desperately to punch him square in the nose but knowing that even if I tried my body wouldn't obey me. It's a struggle just to stay upright at this point.

"So says _you_ ," Spike gripes, muttering it almost under his breath a little like he still doesn't believe me. But he has to know at this point that I have less than a clue about what's really going on here.

You didn't see anything else?" I ask, my voice sounding about as tired as my body feels now.

"I…" the vampire begins, then stops, thinking. He looks like he's concentrating very hard, turning his eyes down to the floor, bracing his hands on his hips. Then he whips his eyes back up to mine as though the light bulb just kicked on. "They were human. Blighters who nabbed me were human." He pauses again, nodding, warming to the memories. "Had some weird lookin' guns on 'em, too. Wearin' masks, though. Couldn't see their faces—"

And it suddenly clicks for me all at once. I cut him off, pushing myself back up to my unsteady feet. "Oh my God."

The commandos. Of course. Oh my God, _of course_. Now my brain is going a million miles a minute for different reasons.

Giles. I need to talk to Giles.

I start scanning the room instantly, looking for something, anything, I can use for rope. I'll have to tie Spike up and take him with me…can't just let him go running around Sunnydale until we know for sure what's going on. That this spell or whatever applies to more than just Slayer necks. I remember a second too late that I have rope in the weapons bag under the bed and head toward it without thinking, brushing Spike aside as I do, headless of the low warning growl that rumbles through his chest.

"Watch it," he snarls, but moves out of my way anyway.

"Or what?" I ask, dropping to my knees, legs still jello-y, and dragging the bag toward me. My hands shake as I begin to dig through it. "You'll give yourself a brain freeze?"

My taunt only makes the vampire fume more, growling again in indignation. I grab the rope out and wind it around my wrist before bracing my hand on my mattress and pushing myself back up.

"And what's that for, then?" Spike asks, side stepping away from me as I make a move to approach him.

I stare at him blankly. "You think I'm just gonna let you leave?"

Spike glares at me, leaning forward and dropping his voice down dangerously low. "You're cracked if you think I'm gonna let you tie me up."

"Okay," I say, drawing the word out, not in the mood for banter. I shrug, muscles stretching uncomfortably as I do. A fresh shiver makes it's way down my spine. "I could just stake you and be done with it."

It's not true. It's not true, and he probably knows it, but I'm hoping the threat will be enough to make him easier to deal with. Just for now. Just until we can get to Giles.

But Spike just shakes his head, eyeing me through a narrowed gaze that always makes me feel like the vampire is much smarter than he looks. "If you were gonna do that," he says slowly, eyes widening and eyebrows raising mockingly as he moves a little closer to me. "Youd'a done it by now."

Case in bleached blonde point.

 _Damn it._

But I force myself to press back and up into his personal space anyway, my own voice low. "Wanna test that theory?"

Spike opens his mouth to say something, some further rebuttal, but he doesn't get the chance. A second later, the lights shut off, causing both of us to freeze in place and glance around. I can see the lights in the hall are out, too. No light filters in from the crack under the door.

Another second later there's a thudding sound. A steady thrum of pounding movement, and faint screams coming from the other end of the hallway. The thundering of footsteps reverberating through the thin dorm floor.

And they come to crashing halt right in front of my door.

"Think somebody decided to come after you," I tell Spike, dropping my voice down to a whisper and turning my body so I'm facing the door. I can hear muffled sounds coming from behind it, like whispers maybe. Some shuffling movement.

"You were thinkin' that too, huh?" he asks back, not as biting and sarcastic as I'd expected. His voice is just a little off kilter, too. Laced with something I don't think I've heard from him in particular before.

Fear.

Whoever these people are that had held him, whatever it is they'd done, he's afraid of them. And for some reason this is what has my fingers curling into my sides, turning to fists, headless of the pain radiating up my right arm.

Because the only thing demons in this town should be afraid of is _me_.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doin'?" Spike asks me suddenly, his voice a low hiss breaking through my thoughts, directly in my right ear.

It's a great question.

Somehow, in the course of the last five seconds or so, I've maneuvered my way over so that I'm standing in front of him, and little to the side. The better part of the right side of my body is shielding him from whoever's about to bust down my door.

"You wanna fight them off?" I hiss back, ignoring his question, ignoring the beads of sweat that are beading along my brow and are starting to fall down my face, the over heated flush on my cheeks. "We don't know if you _can_ even fight anymore, remember?"

I expect a snide comment. A snarky come back. Something, anything, from the vampire at my side. The last thing I'd ever have expected is what actually leaves his lips next.

"You're sick, Slayer." His voice is gravelly, low. And it's probably the fever talking, but I'd swear I hear what might almost be concern there, too. "Won't last thirty seconds in a fight with this lot."

It's self-preservation on his part, I know, but it's too big with the weirdness for me in this moment. Besides the fact that he's right, and he knows it, having seen first hand not too long ago just how worthless the fever has made my Slayer skills tonight— he's also dealt with the commando's much more p close and personal than I have at this point. And if he doesn't think I can manage right now, then I probably can't.

But what other option do I have? Sure, I could let them take Spike and it wouldn't be any real skin off my back. One less thorn in my side. One less vamp snacking on Sunnydale's clueless residents. Yeah, so they might be doing something less than…savory, if it is experimentation they're after. But this _is_ Spike we're talking about.

Would it be the worst thing in the world?

I'm in the middle of considering the merits of letting the commando's vampnap Spike when the door suddenly crashes open, two masked men with guns rushing into my room.

And my instincts take over, making the decision for me.

"I guess I'll have to take 'em out in twenty," I quip over my shoulder, spinning out of the grip of the first commando and ignoring the pounding in my head so I can send a hard roundhouse kick into the chest of the second. He flies backward into the edge of Willow's dresser, all the way across the room, crashing into it with a gratifying smack before sinking to the ground—immobile.

Which is seriously of the good right now, because that one move took just about any energy I might have had left and zapped it.

And now commando number one is charging for me again, and I can make out the shapes of three, maybe four others out in the hallway.

My eyes meet Spikes in the dark of the room for one, heart poundingly slow second, and whether he knows what it is I'm thinking or not, I don't know.

I don't think a whole lot before I do it, don't take the time I probably need to to think it out, weigh my options. I take off at a sprint, side stepping out of the way of the masked man coming at me and pushing with all the force I can muster into the wall of bodies crowding the door.

Which pretty much isn't a whole lot in the force department.

But it doesn't need to be, because the next second I feel it. A pair of wide, strong hands on my back, pushing, helping me break through the commando barrier and out into the long, free stretch of hallway.

And I'm about to turn around to tell Spike to…well, I don't know _what_ I'd been planning on telling him to do, but it doesn't matter. A second later he's taking off, thrusting his body passed mine and sprinting toward the plate glass window at the end of the corridor.

I watch him go longer than I should, turning back just in time for me to get caught hard in the jaw by a sucker punch I never could have seen coming. It sends me reeling, crashing into the little pay phone vestibule to my right. My hand flies out to grip onto the edge to keep from falling, tweaking my broken wrist in the process and making me gasp in pain. It hurts and it's dark and I can't see much of anything through the haze in my head and the shivers in my legs. I've completely lost sight of the commando that's just hit me.

My lip is split. I know that much at least, because I can taste it. Hot and coppery as my tongue flicks out to catch the blood, head spinning worse and worse every second.

I struggle back to my feet and lunge forward, intent on landing at least one more, solid hit to the commando emerging in front of me before the night is over.

I never make it.

There's a loud cry of "No!" that echoes up around the hallways a half second before I fall to the ground, every muscle convulsing in a much different way than they had been moments ago. A sharp pain hits me in the shoulder and radiates throughout my entire body before everything around me goes black.

* * *

 _Silly chit's going to get us both killed, mark my words_. And all before I'm able to get this sodding spell reversed so I can do her in my-goddamn-self.

The heat from her body had scorched my hands when I'd pressed them into her back and shoved her forward, leeching through her clothes and into my skin before I'd had the good sense to remove my hands and take off at a sprint down the hallway.

I'm still not sure what it had been that had stopped me. It hadn't been the Slayer's sharp cry of pain, that much I know. And it hadn't been the sizzling sound of those oversized bug zappers shootin' out of the soldier boys' guns, either.

Might have been the scent of her blood in the air, fevered and thick and pungent. Makin' my mouth water, the denim of my jeans strain painfully across my cock. Might've been the sound of her heart rate speedin' up again, or the faintest hint of fear rolling off her skin that I'd been able to smell from twenty yards away.

No, I don't know for sure. Not that it matters now _why_ it is I'd done it.

But I'd frozen in place and whirled around with just enough time to take in the sight of the Slayer gettin' set to launch a fresh attack, to see the hulking black clad figure rising up behind her, gun aimed square at her back.

I don't know which of those blighters had shouted. Someone shouted.

But it had been too late, and I'd watched as little blue shocks wound their way around the Slayer's body, watched as she'd slumped roughly to the ground. Instantly, the two soldiers on either side of her turned on each other. Fightin', hollering about…something or other.

And by then it had been too late. To late for me to scarper off, make a run for it, to do anything but stare at the gun aimed at me before the blue sparklers shot out. Their barbs digging into my chest, electric pulses strong enough to bring me to my knees coursing through me. And it's here, on my knees, that I finally remember _exactly_ how I'd gotten into that bloody cell to begin with. But the wankers forgot somethin', didn't they?

It had taken more than one of their little toy guns to bring me down last time.

With a venomous growl, I wrap my hand around the still sparking blue barbs and yank them out, flying forward and taking the soldier's legs out from beneath him, aiming one hard punch to his gut in the process. I scramble back to my feet, pressing the heel of my hand to my head and shaking it to clear my blurred vision. So that tells me a little something, too.

 _I can't even hit people._

The movement forward brings me some unwanted attention, but I see the gun aimed at me this time and have enough time to think, grabbing for the fire extinguisher in the wall to my left and putting it out in front of me like a shield. The electric barbs strike the side, sending the entire hallway up in a blaze of foaming white salvation. Everything goes hazy, and even though the white substance stings my eyes a bit, it doesn't bother me. The guttural cries all around me is proof enough that it isn't the same old story for the soldier boys.

I can see through it. They can't.

I turn around to run again stopping for half a second when I hear the pained moan from below me. Glancing down, my eyes narrow in on the semi-unconscious girl at me feet.

And again, I don't know why I do it. What makes me do it. Have not one _fuckin'_ clue.

But I'm reaching down and grabbing for the Slayer before I can tell myself not to, closing my hand around her wrist and yanking her up. She's still out, obviously unable to stand on her own two feet, so I grip her harder and haul her into my arms. Her body is almost unbearably hot at this point, every inch of her searing me through the layers of clothes we both wear.

Crushing her with bruising force against my chest, I take off again, back down the hall.

The whole thing takes me maybe ten seconds. Well, fifteen if I count the momentary pause between first grabbing the bint up off the floor and shoving her into my arms.

Point is, it happens fast. Too fast for any of the soldier boys to wise up to it before I'm jumpin' through a plate glass window.

In hindsight, I probably should'a planned a touch better.

I land on the hard ground below the window, twisting my body on instinct with just enough time for my back to crash hard into the concrete. The maneuver shields the Slayer from the worst of the fall, and I'm only halfway wonderin' at this point why it is I even sodding _care_ if the stupid bint gets crushed beneath me…when I smell it again, for the third time tonight. Fresh blood. Fresh Slayer's blood.

It's strong in my nostrils as I inhale, and I know without having to look that she's been sliced open somewhere.

 _Perfect_.

I let go of her and scramble to my feet, takin' a second to crack my neck before bending down and scooping her back up. If possible, she's even hotter now. No doubt gettin' shot with that laser gun isn't doing that fever of hers any favors.

 _Not that I give a bloody damn_.

It's what I'm thinkin' when I tuck her body tighter against mine and start running. Into the night, away from the dorm, cradling the unconscious, fevered body of the girl that I'd come here tonight to kill.

And the other thought pops into my head, too, as I make it deeper into the trees lining the edge of the campus. That I've gotta wise up and stop makin' so many bloody plans.

They never turn out right.


	2. Chapter 2

I think it's the shaking that wakes me up. Or it could be the clicking sound. The constant clicking and clacking that echoes in my ears way too loudly. It takes me longer than it probably should to figure out that the sound is me. My teeth are chattering.

And everything hurts.

It's the first thing I think of when I finally force my eyes open. Both my arms and legs are shaking violently, teeth chattering so hard I can't get them to stop, pain radiating through my right wrist and up into my arm. That literally _everything_ hurts.

And I'm freezing. The kind of bone chilling cold that sinks into your skin and down into your muscles and sort of steels all the heat you have, leaving everything numb. But not _numb_ numb. Just numb enough to leave every limb virtually useless, but not enough to not feel how much pain the cold is causing.

It's dark, too. Majorly dark here…wherever _here_ is. I don't recognize it. And I don't have a single clue how I got here.

Shuddering and shaking, I clench my jaw in an attempt to stop the chattering noise and strain my eyes forward. Or what I _think_ is forward, anyway. It might be up.

I really wish I had a flashlight.

Peering into the darkness all around me, I fight the surging swell of panic I feel rising in my chest. That little Slayery tingle that isn't just reserved for vamps, but also tells me just when a situation is bad.

And this feels like an ocean of bad.

"Hello?" I call out, half hoping no one will answer me.

But when I don't get a response, I kind of wish the opposite.

I wait for another long moment in the silence before I decide that I won't be getting a response and put my hand down beside me, shifting myself shakily up into a seated position. It takes way too much effort. Every muscle in my body aches in protest of the small movement. My right wrist is throbbing, something hot and stinging that runs along the stretch of my collar bone is on fire, and the chills running rampant up and down my arms remind me of the fever I'd never gotten the chance to take medicine for.

Which reminds me of the reason I hadn't gotten to take the medicine in the first place.

 _Spike_.

I cradle my throbbing wrist against my chest and continue to look around, thinking through everything that had happened tonight.

God. What _had_ happened tonight? I try and think back further into the night, but my brain keeps running in circles and ending up at the same spot each time.

Spike. Spike had been a thing. He'd shown up, made some threats, tired to kill me, failed...and then...and then _what_?

We'd talked. That's what.

We'd talked a little about what had happened to him, where he'd been before he'd shown up so unceremoniously at my door. Which, yeah, _might_ have been the wiggiest part of the night if hadn't been for what happened right after. There'd been an attack. The commandos had attacked me, us, no doubt having come to take the vampire back into their custody and I…

I'd fought them, or I'd tried to fight them at least. I remember that much.

But remembering that much does jack in the way of squat to help me figure out where I am, or how I _got_ _here_.

Narrowing my eyes as if that might help me see something, anything, in the growing darkness, I gaze wide eyed out into the space directly in front of me, then down toward my own body.

You know when people say a place is so dark they can't see their hand in front of their face? Well, this isn't _quite_ that dark. I can make out my hands, and my legs, and the socks on my feet. But just barely. The ground below me is hard, and cold. Stone or concrete or something similar, and my legs twinge from where my bare skin has scraped over it. And I don't even want to think about how dirty my favorite socks probably are.

I reach around me, groping blindly with the hand that _doesn't_ feel like it's about to fall off until it comes in contact with something that has to be a wall, and I shift sideways, positioning myself so that my back can rest against it. Letting my shoulders sink against it, I tuck my still-shaking legs up into my chest so I can stretch my oversized sweatshirt down over them, protect them from the draft.

There's a scent that I recognize, too. Something...musty. Stale. Like the air around me has been sitting somewhere sealed off for a really long time.

Now that I don't feel quite so freezing, and I have a wall behind me to get a little of my bearings back, I feel a little less panicky. Even though I still can't see much _beyond_ the hand in front of my face as I glance around in the blackness.

But just because I don't know how I got here doesn't mean I can't try and noodle out where _here_ is. So what do I know? It's cold, dark, musty, and the walls and floor are made of stone.

Survey says, mausoleum. Probably.

So, okay, I'm most likely sitting with my back against the stone wall of a crypt in one of Sunnydale's cemeteries. Obviously, I didn't get here by myself, which means I've been brought here. Which means there has to be a door I'd been brought _through_.

Which means there has to be a door _out_.

Steeling myself, unhooking my knees from my sweatshirt's fabric and placing both my palms tentatively on the floor beside my hips, I grit my teeth and force myself up onto my feet. My head is pounding and my cheeks are hot, the muscles in my legs tense from disuse. But everything else seems fine.

Actually, everything else seems fine for all of about, oh, two seconds...and then my legs give out. I squeeze my eyes shut preparing for the sting of the stone floor, my one good wrist flying out in front of me to brace my fall, but the pain I'm expecting never comes.

Instead, I find myself smashing cheek first into something hard. Just not, you know, concrete hard.

Muscley hard.

And I can't see him, can't see anything, really, with the way my cheek is turned to the side, my eyes still squeezed shut from a moment ago. But I know who's there. Who it is that's caught me, who's chest smells like cigarettes and whiskey and aged leather.

 _I guess that part about thinking Spike had carried me here in his arms hadn't been a dream._

Dimly I recognize that I should probably move. Push him away from me, but I don't. I feel frozen and confused and honestly, I'm not sure I won't just go crashing back into him the second I do move from his support.

And _Spike_ and _support_ in the same sentence? Definitely on the list of top ten things I never thought I'd think.

Beneath my cheek, I feel the vampire's chest do a shuddering rise and fall. Like he's sighing.

A sighing vampire.

It's weird.

It had been something I'd taken specific notice of the last time we'd fought, on the campus quad. That the vampire breathed. Why, I have no clue. Angel never did. But sure enough, I'd seen Spike's chest heaving in and out during the fight. Had felt it brush against my back when he'd shoved me into that lamp post.

And I feel the steady, regular movement of his chest now, his breath fanning over me and tickling the hair at the crown of my head.

Again, and I'm thinking this is probably all some wiggy side effect from the fever, it takes me longer than normal to realize that I should never, _ever_ be close enough to Spike to take notice of his breathing patterns. Regular or not.

Deciding to risk the jell-o legs, I bring my hands up so quickly I forget about the fracture in my wrist and brace my hands on his chest, lifting my cheek away and shoving him backward.

Unfortunately, he must be quite a bit steadier on his feet than I am, because instead of shoving him _away_ from me, all I really manage to do is push myself further back onto said jell-o legs, which I think have gotten even jell-o-ier in the last ten seconds. I let my arms fly out on either side of me for balance, but it isn't necessary. The vampire growls, a deep, low rumble that echoes through the cavernous room. There's a whoosh of smokey air accompanying his movement forward to catch me again before I can crash backward to the floor.

"Laid you on the ground for a reason, Slayer," Spike says, his voice low and biting even as I feel his hands curl around the tops of my arms to hold me up. "Like a bloody newborn colt, you are."

And he grips me harder, digging his fingers into me and lifting me up effortlessly off the ground.

"Hey!" I shout, startled, my hands flying out to grip at his waist as if on instinct. I'm trying for indignant, but my voice is too high, a little scratchy. "What do you think you're doing?" I ask, voice still high, managing to get the question out just as he slams my butt down on a cold stone surface, letting go of my arms as fast as he'd grabbed them to begin with and leaving me with my legs dangling what has to be at least a couple feet off the ground. The whole thing happens in about three seconds and leaves me dazed, head still all cottony from the fever, heat raging through my veins.

"What does it look like I'm doin'?" Spike counters coolly, but he's already moving away from me, out of the circle of space I can see into. "Makin' sure you stay put."

I stare after him, watching the white-blonde of his hair disappear into the darkness and frowning. I shiver again, wondering how high up this…whatever it is he's sat me on top of is. And why he cares if I try and leave or not.

It's not like he can do anything to me.

"Okay," I say, this time going for snarky instead of indignant. It goes a little better. Or it would, I'm guessing, if it weren't for the teeth chattering thing. "And _why_ exactly do I need to stay put?"

Spike scoffs, chuckling like he doesn't actually think anything's funny. "I'll let you figure that out for yourself, pet."

Pet. _Ew_.

I wrinkle my nose up in the direction I think he's gone. "You could just tell me."

"Or _you_ could not ask bloody stupid questions."

I narrow my eyes into the blackness, clenching my jaw again to try one more time to still my clicking teeth. So, the vampire's not in the mood for twenty questions, then. That's too bad, considering I have a lot more than twenty questions jumbling around in my head right now. I just don't know which one I want to ask first.

I decide to start with one he might at least answer, even though I figure I probably already know what he'll say.

"Where are we?" I ask, listening for the hollow bounce of my voice as it echoes back to me.

There's a shifting sound, leather brushing against stone, and even though I can't see Spike I imagine he's gone back to sitting wherever it was he'd been before I'd first tried to make it to the door.

"Crypt," he says tersely, coupled by a couple more rustling sounds.

Crypts, mausoleums, giant cereal boxes of death. Same thing. So I'd been right about the here part at least. And, I'm guessing, about the how I'd gotten here part, too.

I'm not expecting Spike to keep talking, so I jump a little when his voice cuts through the silence again. "Dunno which cemetery," he mutters, and I find myself leaning forward slightly and straining my ears, listening hard for what the new clicking sound I'm hearing now might be. "Just picked the first one that came along."

I guess I have a few answers, but all they've done is give me more questions. Like _why_ we're here. And why _we're_ here, together. And why the vampire doesn't seem to want me up walking around even though I'm pretty sure having me here does him zero in the way of good.

"I called out earlier," I say, tucking my bare legs up beneath me again and covering them as best I can. "Why didn't you say anything?"

A long silence. Then, "Didn't feel like talkin'."

He says it like he still doesn't.

There's a final sharp clicking sound, and the flicker of a flame blazes to life in the palm of Spike's hand where I can now see he's sitting, his back against the wall, only actually about five feet away from me. It illuminates the vampire's face, casting it in a sheen of red and gold as he brings it to the end of the cigarette wedged between his lips. I watch him inhale, waiting until the tip sizzles and ignites before he snaps the lighter closed again.

I make a face as the scent of smoke reaches me, wrinkling my nose up in disgust and wrapping my arms tighter around my legs.

"What are you lookin' at?" He hisses, his lips, the planes of his cheeks just barely visible in the dim glow of the cigarette.

The question catches me off guard. I guess I'd figured if I couldn't really see him he couldn't see me. Which is dumb to figure, but again, I'm thinking it's the fever.

"Do you have to do that in here?" I ask, forgetting to keep my jaw clenched tight and letting my teeth chatter freely, making the words sound way less venomous than I want. Another wave of chills has my skin prickling in goose bumps.

"Well," Spike drawls, words sounding slightly off as he murmurs them around the cigarette. "Seein' as how it's daylight outside." A beat. " _Yeah_."

Through my shivers, the word makes my ears perk up. Daylight. _Already?_

It couldn't have been more than 10:00pm last night when Spike had first shown up. How long have I been out?

I can just barely make out the shrug of Spike's shoulders when I ask him. I think he isn't going to answer me, but then he reaches up and pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, the swirl of smoke he exhales curling up in front of his face.

"Five, maybe six hours." His eyes are glued to the glowing tip in front of him.

I balk at his response, shocked.

Five or six hours? I've been lying here, unconscious and sick, on the floor of a crypt—with William the Bloody—for five to six _hours_?

If I'd had any niggling doubts at all about whatever it is the commandos had done to de-fang the bleached vampire, I don't have them anymore.

I frown then, a new thought crossing my muddled mind as I bring my hurt wrist up and tucking it more securely into my chest. Sure, Spike hadn't been able to hurt me over the last few hours. Still. Him not hurting me and him helping me are two _very_ different things.

"Why did you bring me here?" I ask suddenly, watching in the dim glow as his eyes shoot to mine, glittering in the dark. I can't make out anything detailed about his expression from here. Only that his gaze is on me.

When he speaks his voice is low, harsh. Like he hadn't expected me to ask and isn't prepared to answer. "What?"

Despite the fever and chills creeping up my spine, I can still summon enough Slayer indignation to glare at him—what I can see of him— and infuse my shaking voice with a decent amount of venom. "You heard me," I say, wondering how well my legs might support me if I were to hop down from what I'm starting to think is one of those creepy stone coffin thingies. "Why did you bring me with you?"

In my mind, it's a great question. He'd been halfway down the hallway the last time I'd seen him, when I'd been in the middle of that sorry excuse for a fight. I hadn't seen him at all by the time whatever it was that had knocked me out had hit me.

So…he'd what? Come back?

If I think about it, rack my brain, I get these sort of…flashes. Like false memories, or dreams, of being tucked securely in a pair of leather-clad arms, moving way too fast through the night. But they don't _feel_ like memories. Or maybe I just don't want them to be.

Because the vampire I'm staring at now came to my dorm room last night to kill me. Had tried multiple times before we'd figured out that he couldn't.

So, yeah, the idea of him… _rescuing_ me from those commandos? It's not settling too well with me now.

It doesn't make sense.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he bites out, his voice stinging and sarcastic. Now that the glowing tip of the cigarette has burned down a little, I can see his face a little more clearly. Or maybe my eyes are just adjusting to the dark. I don't know, but I can see his eyes narrowed on me, lips twisted in a cruel sneer. "Did you want me to leave you to your soldier chums?"

I blink at him.

Okay. So…he did rescue me.

I think I'm too delirious to try and figure that one out right now. I fleetingly think that maybe I should, you know… _thank_ him or something. But I'm not quite so fevered that I'm ready for that to sound like a good idea.

"I would've been fine," I say instead, un-tucking my knees from my chest and turning away from him to peer down, trying to spot the ground beneath my feet. Spike might not be able to hurt me, but that doesn't mean I'm raring to spend an entire day shut up in here with him.

If I could just get to the door…

Spike laughs suddenly, making me jump again. A harsh, scoffing sound that has me whipping my eyes back toward him. The sneer has morphed into more of an amused smirk, but his voice is still cold. "They'd just _shot_ you, Summers." He shakes his head, placing the last remnant of the cigarette between his lips. "Not sure fine is what they were aimin' for."

I frown, feeling my brow crease as I think about that. I guess he sort of has a point. Not that I'm willing to let _him_ know that.

"Well, it was dark," I say simply, but my brow stays furrowed, my teeth still clicking. "A-and confusing. Once the lights came on they probably would've seen I was human and just let me go."

I try and ignore the fact that it doesn't sound like I believe this, myself. Especially not after that little roundhouse to the chest display in my room. Most college freshman can't send a 6'5'', 220 guy flying through the air. Probably would've raised some suspicions.

I watch from my perch as the vampire nods, but not like he agrees with me. It's more knowing, arrogant. He removes the cigarette and exhales a long, last swirl of smoke, flipping the stub out of his fingers and sending it sailing across the darkness.

When he looks back at me, my eyes have adjusted enough that I can still make out his face, and I swear I see his eyes flash as he lowers his voice and asks "And you woulda been willin' to stake your life on that?"

 _Well, apparently_ you _hadn't been willing to_.

The thought passes through my mind before I can stop it, making my eyes go wide. I tamp it down hurriedly, forcing it back as soon as it does. Not enough brain power to deal with _that_ just yet.

And Spike's pushing himself to his feet, already talking again before I can get a word in. "Besides," he murmurs, the black of his coat and the dark denim of his jeans all but disappearing into the wall behind him. "Still need help figurin' out exactly what it is those wankers did to me."

I let my legs dangle down over the edge of the coffin, reaching out with my feet until they come in contact with what has to be solid ground, and I start shifting my weight forward.

Whatever this is, this weird, uneasy almost truce happening between us, it's gone on long enough.

"And you think…what?" It's my turn to scoff now, placing my feet fully flat on the floor and doing my best to brace my weight on my palms behind me. My wrist twinges, but I ignore it. "That I'm going to help you?"

His eyes whip toward mine, freezing me in place. "Saved your life, didn't I?"

Oh.

 _Oh._

Now that does makes sense. Selfish bastard. Came to my dorm to kill me, couldn't, so decides to what…use my life as a bargaining chip? Oh, no. I don't think so. There's no way I'm going to let him use me to get what he wants. I…am leaving.

And if I thought my legs would support me if I let go of the coffin lid, I'd do just that.

"You still didn't answer my question," I say, testing my weight, turning around to brace my hands on either side of the coffin lid.

From behind me, Spike sighs, like dealing with me is the single most exhausting thing he's ever had to do. "I just bloody told you—"

My cheeks flush hot with frustration and I turn my head over my shoulder, probably a little too quickly, to cut him off. "Why you _saved_ me, yeah," I snap, emphasizing the word with more disbelief than I would have thought possible in the awkward position I've found myself. "But why bring us _here_ , Spike?"

The vampire balks, blinking at me through the darkness.

"Where would you have had me go?" he asks me, and now his voice is missing that usual mocking tone. He sounds genuinely curious.

I shake my head and turn away from him, preparing to let go of the coffin and see how well my legs hold up when a fresh course of violent shivers suddenly wrack my frame. My knees wobble and I wince when the sudden unsteadiness causes me to grip on to the edges tighter rather than letting go.

"Somewhere with central heating wouldn't have been a bad start," I remark dryly, half under my breath, feeling the cold, stale air wrapping itself around my legs and prickling more goose bumps over my flesh.

"Right," Spike drawls, his voice back to being bitter. "Because the people in this town are just _itchin'_ to invite a stranger carryin' some bleeding chit into their homes."

The mention of blood, of _my_ blood, has me whirling around again, headless of my jell-o legs and fixing the bleached blonde with what has to be a horrified expression.

"I'm bleeding?" I ask, voice pitching high and eyes widening. I drop my gaze down to my body, frantically searching in the darkness for whatever wound I must have missed before. This time I see it. I'd felt it earlier, sure, but with everything else going on I hadn't realized. The stinging, burning line along my collar bone is a cut. A gash, really. Long but not overly deep, staining the torn fabric of my sweatshirt in a dark color that has to be red.

Spike chuckles at my panic, voice lowering to an almost husky purr as he says "Not anymore, you're not."

It's the way he says it that has my stomach rolling.

Instantly, my hackles raise, and all my self preservation instincts disappear, replaced with a much more violent, primal reaction. I launch myself away from the stone coffin and slam myself as hard as I can into the smirking vampire, knocking him back against the wall and pressing my left forearm into his throat.

I'm relieved to find that my legs seem to be cooperating for now.

"What did you _do_?" I hiss, pressing my arm tighter into him, my eyes burning into his. This close, I can just make out the blue of his irises, the scent of the cigarette he's just finished smoking fanning over my lips. Just the slightest bit minty, and cool.

It's headier than I'd like to admit, but in the midst of the haziness in my brain, I find I can't move out of his space. Even when I feel shift toward me, feel him press himself harder into my arm.

His eyes narrow and he lowers his voice to a deep rumble, tongue curling up behind his top teeth. "What d'you think?"

My stomach rolls again, just for slightly different reasons this time.

"Spike," I hiss harshly, ignoring the pressure of his body beneath mine as I press my arm more firmly into him, as threatening as I can manage. "I swear to God, if you did something to me—"

The predatory seduction I'd seen on his face a moment ago is gone in a blink, and he rolls his eyes, smacking the back of his head into the wall. "Relax, alright? Didn't _do_ anythin'." And then he looks down at me again, frowning. "Your blood's all sickly right now, anyway." His lips twist in distaste. "Bloody disgusting."

This has me freezing, frowning up at him and instantly pulling my arm away from his throat.

"You know I'm sick?" I ask.

Spike scoffs, glaring down at me like it should be obvious. "Know?" Another eye roll. "Christ, Slayer, I could smell it the second I set foot in your room."

And now I take a step away from him, still frowning, needing to swallow down some air that doesn't reek of Spike.

"And you tried to kill me anyway?" I ask, continuing the line of questioning, the distant thoughts popping up as I think about the interaction we'd had last night in my dorm room.

Spike looks down at me, confused, like he can't fathom why I'd ask such a stupid question. "Well, _yeah_ ," he answers quickly, again, like it should be so obvious. At my raised eyebrow, he glares at me, his voice turning caustic. "What?"

I admit, I'm a little surprised. Spike's killed two Slayers before me, and I've just never thought of him as wanting to miss out on the big fight. If he'd known I was sick and wouldn't be able to really fight back, it seems like it would have…cheapened it for him, or something. Like it wouldn't have _really_ counted without the epic knock down, drag out battle to the death.

And I can't pinpoint exactly why it is that this bugs. Like every other traitorous thought I've had tonight…er, today…so far, I'm thinking it's probably something to do with the sickness creeping through my system. It has to be.

Why else would I care about the integrity of Spike's Slayer slaying record?

"I guess I always thought you were sort of in it for the thrill of the fight, or whatever," I tell him, though I don't know why I feel like I need to explain what I'm thinking. I shrug. "Didn't think you'd be all down with the easy way out."

The vampire looks for a second like he's as surprised as I am that it's something I seem to have actually thought about. And then his eyes flash, lips quirking up in a cruel smirk.

"Or," he counters haughtily, drawing the word out, still fixing me with a hard look. "Maybe I got tired of draggin' it all out?" he chuckles, leaning toward me again. "Foreplay's all fine and good, pet, but eventually you have to get to the fucking, yeah?"

His words hit me like ice water. My stomach clenches tightly, and the chills I'd nearly forgotten about return with a vengeance.

I take yet another step away from him, eyes narrowed nearly to slits. "You're a pig, Spike."

He's completely unfazed by my go to insult, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. "And you're too bloody predictable, Slayer."

I turn at that, moving as quickly forward as I can on my traitorous legs toward where I'm kind of blindly assuming the door is. Spike's behind me in an instant, sending my vampire tinglies shooting down my back as his footsteps echo behind mine.

"Where are you goin'?" he asks.

"Home," I reply flatly.

"Mmhm," he muses, his voice still right behind me, almost in my ear now. "And what happens if those GI Joe's are still there?"

I pause for a moment, brow furrowed. I hadn't really thought about that. I guess I hadn't been that concerned with them.

Though, if I was forced into another fight with them feeling like I do now, I don't think I'd fair much better than I had last night.

Giles. That had been the original plan, anyway. No reason I can't just…stick with the original plan.

"Then I'll go to Giles," I say tersely, glancing around the crypt to make sure I'm still heading in the right direction, moving forward too quickly and catching my sock on the stone floor, stumbling for my efforts.

When Spike's arms come around my waist to steady me, I'm not surprised.

But I'm a little surprised that I'm _not_ surprised.

"Bloody hell," he grouses, moving around to step in front of me, blocking my path to the door. "You're not goin' anywhere on those chicken legs of yours. You won't make it past the cemetery gate."

I glare up at him, cheeks heating up. In no way, shape or form am I used to having to rely on anyone for anything, least of all my currently fangless mortal enemy.

"And you care, why?" I put my good hand flat against his chest and shove him back, out of my personal space. He steps back slightly in response to my push, the corner of his lips turning down into a frown.

"I _don't_ ," comes his harsh reply, and silence fills in around us for a moment as we glare at each other. Then he sighs. Again, it's weird. "But since you mention the Watcher, maybe I'd like to have a word or two with him myself." He tilts his head down, dropping his eyes to the ground. "See if he can figure out what's goin' on up in my noggin?"

I gape at him. Full on gape, my mouth falling open, eyes bugging and everything. When I don't respond right away, he shifts his eyes back up toward me.

"Are you out of your mind?" I ask him after a minute, voice loud in the space between us. I shake my head, regaining a little of my normal Slayer fortitude as the full force of the absolute insanity that is this moment right now hits me. "You tried to _murder_ me less than twenty four hours ago, and now you're asking me…" I trail off, lost for words. I blink at him, lashes fluttering rapidly. "You want me to let you _borrow_ Giles?"

The vampire leans slightly away from me, looking down his nose at me with cool, gleaming eyes.

"For lack of a more eloquent way of sayin' it," he drawls, tilting his head back to the side as he looks at me, seeming to consider it. "Enemy of my enemy and all that rot. Which, as it happens, would be you and me workin' together." I watch as he inclines his head in the direction of the door, as though to indicate whoever he might sense is on the other side of it. "Seein' as how it seems to me we have ourselves a common enemy—"

"Oh, no," I cut him off quickly, shaking my head and jabbing a finger hard into his sternum. "No. You and I have _nothing_ in common, Spike. And the last time we tried the whole working together thing?" I raise both eyebrows at him, cocking my head to the side and lowering my voice to a harsh hiss. "A thousand gallons of you leaving me there to _die_."

Spike rolls his eyes as if the reminder of just how stellar an ally to me he'd been before is completely irrelevant.

He'd done me about as much good as the French did in…well, any war, ever if what they'd tried teaching us in history is right.

"Knew you'd be fine, 's all," Spike says dismissively.

"Yeah," I snark, "I'm sure it was my Slaying prowess you were thinking about when you ran off with the Queen of the Damned."

I know they're a mistake the second the words leave my lips, but it's too late to suck them back in. Spike's eyes flash and he leans toward me, the scent of him flooding my nostrils, making my head spin more than it already is as he growls low in his throat.

His nose is almost touching mine. That's how close he is.

"Listen to me, you stubborn bint," he says, the words leaving his lips slowly, deliberately, through gritted teeth. Like he's talking to a small child. "You're _sick_ , and whether or not that precious ego of yours will let you admit it, you need help." I open my mouth on instinct to deny this, but Spike ignores me, plowing full steam ahead. "You won't make it ten bloody feet by yourself, let alone all the way to your Watcher." He waits for a long moment, eyes blazing down into mine, waiting to see if I'm going to say anything to disagree.

I don't. I can't. Even now, it's taking all my energy to stay standing up right, to not give in to my body's call to rest. A very long, impossibly tense moment passes between us with our noses still almost touching, neither of us willing to back down.

And then it's over, and he moves away from me again. I release the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

"Wait until the bleeding sun goes down and I'll take you to him," he says flatly, looking away from me, back toward the far wall of the crypt. The thinly veiled rage in his voice from a moment ago is gone, replaced with something else. Something tired.

"Why?" I ask, my brain not as ready as my body to back down. "So you can use being all hero of the hour to make Giles feel like he owes you something?"

The words sound funny. The thought of Spike being the hero is almost enough to make me laugh out loud. It seems to amuse the vampire, too, because he turns back to look at me, a low, harsh chuckle reverberating from his chest.

He smirks at me in answer. "Smarter than you look, pet."

I give him a wide, falsely sweet smile in return. "Wish I could say the same for you."

He raises his scarred eyebrow in an expression that's as mocking as it is challenging, making my hands itch to curl into fists where they now rest at my sides.

"You wanna try and make it on your own?" He asks, his voice light, infuriatingly casual. "Be my guest." He cocks his head to the side, dark lashes fluttering against his pale cheeks. "But we both know that the second I let go of you, you're gonna pull a London Bridge."

I freeze at that, my mouth halfway open to make whatever sharp rebuttal I'd been planning. It takes a second for the words to register, but once they do, I feel certain I'm about to be sick. For real this time.

I hadn't even noticed that his arms were still around me. Strong, leather clad forearms wrapped around my waist, hands splayed across the fabric of my sweat shirt, supporting me along my lower back.

 _Oh, God_.

Have we been standing like this the whole time? Sure, I remember him having caught me when I'd stumbled, but I'd pushed him away after that. I _know_ I had.

Hadn't I?

On instinct now, I shove away from him, breaking his hold across my waist and stumbling backward to brace my hand along the cool stone wall.

"See?" I manage, hyper aware of how ragged my breathing sounds in my own ears. "No London Bridging here."

Spike tilts his head to the side, eyeing me through his lashes. Even in the darkness I can see his eyes glittering.

"Right," he says, his voice still low and casual. "Well then, I'm sure you'll be just fine."

But my legs are already starting to tremble again, knees threatening to buckle beneath the weight they haven't had to support at all yet today. I'm wishing desperately that I had enough strength in my arms to reach over and uppercut that infuriating smirk right off his stupid face. But I don't. And I know I don't.

And so does Spike.

"I hate you," I hiss, letting my hand slide further out along the wall, turning my back to press against the stone. I fix him with as withering a look as I can and let myself slide down to the floor, folding my arms around me as tight as I can to make the most of my body heat.

"I can assure you, Summers," the vampire says snidely, watching me from his position in front of the door. "The feelin' is more than mutual." He shoves his hands in the pockets of his duster and cocks his head to the side, considering me. "But I'm all you've got."

The words hit me in a weird way.

I wonder if he hears it when he says it, how similar the sentiment is to what he'd told me the last time we'd been in a position to help each other out. Maybe that's _why_ he says it. I don't know, can't read his expression as clearly now as I could when I was standing in front of him.

"For now," I mutter, half under my breath, just loud enough for me to know he's heard me. Then, much louder. "Can we at least…crack the door open or something?" I shudder on cue, teeth starting up their chattering again with the added chill of the stone at my back. "It's freezing _and_ it's pitch black in here."

A beat.

Then, "Will it get you to quit your whinging for two bloody seconds?"

I think about it for a minute, using context clues to figure out what normal word whinging equals in Brit speak. And then I nod.

Spike grumbles, making a big show of sauntering toward where the door must be, putting his hand on what must be a handle, and yanking back. A bright stream of sunlight filters into the crypt, spilling across the stone floor and illuminating a path from the door to where my sock-clad feet are. The sun warms them instantly, which is nice, but it doesn't help with the rest of my shaking limbs.

I close my eyes, shifting slightly so more of my ankles and legs are in the stream of the light.

My eyes snap open again when I feel it. The sharp smacking of leather slapping against my cheek, filling my nose with the scent of cigarettes. I reach up instinctively to grab it, pulling the heavy material away from my face and blinking down at it.

Spike's coat.

He's just tossed his precious leather coat at me.

I stare at it for another long second, blinking, wondering if this is part of the fever, too. But when I turn to look at Spike, my eyebrow raised in silent question, the vampire just shrugs and rolls his shoulders back, looking away from me.

"If I have to listen to your teeth clicking together for one more sodding second, I'll go as barmy as Dru," he says simply, like it's enough to explain everything.

Normally, I think I'd ball the leather up and toss it right back at him. But honestly, I'm sort of feeling the same way. I never thought I could be so sick of hearing my own teeth knocking together. And besides that, it's also starting to make my jaw hurt.

Or that could be the fever too, I guess.

So, apart from the wigginess that is Spike offering me his coat, which if I think of it that way my head starts to hurt, I take the gesture at the facest of values and don't throw it back to him.

Instead I un-ball the coat and fan the leather out, draping the longest part over my legs, tucking my arms securely beneath it and pulling the collar up to my chin.

The words thank you float to my lips, but I bite down on them before they can escape. Apart from the little voice in the back of my head telling me the bleached vampire now sitting against the crypt wall across from me would probably just throw the sentiment right back in my face, I'm still feeling totally bugged by his motives for "rescuing" me in the first place. It's ookie, that he's using me to get to my Watcher.

I mean, hello. Slayer here? And he's supposed be all Big and Bad. Shouldn't his evil plans go more along the lines of him using other people to get to _me_? I'm not totally out of my mind, right? That is normally how this would go.

Then again, I'm a vampire slayer who's currently holed up inside some musty crypt with a Master vampire— and have been for the last five hours, at least— and neither of us is dead or dust. So okay, yeah. There's pretty much zip in the way of normal about any of this.

And I'm not even going to think about why I'm more bothered by the fact that Spike came back and rescued me from the commandos than I am about the fact that he'd come to my room to kill me. Because trying to kill me? That's just Spike being…Spike.

The other is a peroxide pest of a different verging-on-radioactive color.

I watch from my spot against the wall, below his duster, as Spike pulls the worn down package of cigarettes and his silver lighter out of his jeans pocket, tapping one out of the pack and into his hand. The question is leaving my lips before I can stop it. "What all did they do to you?"

Spike pauses, cigarette wedged between his lips, lighter halfway to the tip as he glances up toward me. "Who's that, then?" he asks, still frozen mid-light.

"The commandos," I say. When he raises an eyebrow I sigh, rolling my eyes. "Your friendly neighborhood soldier boys." I bring my gaze back to his, leveling him with a hard look. "When you were in that…cell or whatever, what all did they do to you?"

The vampire stares at me for another second before looking away, bringing the waiting flame of the lighter to the end of the cigarette. He doesn't answer me, choosing instead to slowly put the lighter and package away, taking a long, deliberate drag and exhaling the smoke languorously through his nose.

"Why?" he asks finally, reaching up and plucking the smoking cigarette from his mouth, holding it out between his index and middle fingers. And his lips twist into a sneer. "Plannin' to _avenge_ me, Slayer?"

I frown, blinking at him, wondering at the weird tone of voice he's using. "No."

He nods like that's the answer he'd been expecting, placing the cigarette back between his lips and looking down toward he ground. "Plannin' to send 'em a lovely thank you card, then."

I grimace at the thought, at the hollow, cruel trace of humor in his voice. " _No_ ," I say again. "I was just—" But I cut myself off mid-sentence when I catch the cold look on his face, shaking my head. "You know what, never mind." I tilt my head back into the wall, letting my eyes flutter shut _._

He doesn't ask me any more questions, and I'm glad. Because honestly, I don't know why I'd asked in the first place.

And I don't want to have to think about it.

"How many hours until sunset?" I ask after a while, breaking the not completely uncomfortable silence that's woven around us since my teeth have stopped doing their castanet impression.

Spike—who's been sitting opposite me with his knees bent, arms propped over them and extended out straight with his head back against the stone and his eyes closed for the better part of the last few hours—doesn't bother to look at me before he answers in a low murmur. "Half hour, give or take."

I nod even though he can't see me, wondering why why I'd even bothered to ask. I can see from where I'm sitting that the sky is getting hazy. Bright blue fading to shades of fiery orange, shadows from the headstones I can see growing impossibly long as they stretch over the grass.

It's been hours, but I'm still shaky, muscles aching now from having sat in the same position for so long. Shivers wrack my frame every once and a while, but they're your average, run-of-the-mill fluish symptom chills now, not from the cold. I'm _not_ cold.

Haven't been since Spike had thrown me his coat.

I still haven't said thank you.

I still don't want to.

Biting down on my lip, wishing for some unfathomable reason that the bleached blonde would look at me, I sigh. "When can we leave?"

He still doesn't open his eyes, but his lips curve up slightly at the corners. "Achin' to be away from me already, are you?"

I frown at him, again, even though he can't see me. "Like you're not ready to be away from me?"

I watch as one crystal blue eye pops open, gleaming dimly in the fading sunlight from the doorway. "I dunno," he muses, lips twisting fully now into a knowing smirk. "Haven't staked out a good place to hole up yet. Maybe we'll stay here another few days, let that Slayer stench of yours mark it up good and proper, keep the other nasties out."

The shivers return at his words, the thought of being stuck here for another day and night being more than my already weakened body can handle. How many days could pass before anyone thought to look here for me? _Would_ they even think to?

Could the fever kill me before that?

And I guess I should have known. Spike can't bite me, so he has to find another way to add my name to his record. He _is_ trying to kill me, the smug bastard. Just really, really slowly.

And while letting me borrow his duster.

"We had a deal," I remind him angrily, trying to keep my voice level, keep any hidden notes of panic out of it.

"Relax, Slayer," he drawls, opening both eyes now and shoving himself much too easily to his feet. "We'll be off in two shakes."

He's been sitting still for just a as long as I have, but you'd never guess by looking at him now, how quickly his muscles stretch and bounce back to normal. He closes his eyes again, tilting his head back and raising his right arm high above his head to stretch his shoulder. My eyes light on his left hand, splayed flat over his stomach, watching as the black t-shirt comes un-tucked and rides up just the slightest bit.

I look away again quickly. I don't know why.

When I chance a look toward him again, he's moved. Standing right in front of me now, hand extended down and out toward me. I hadn't even heard him cross the crypt.

I look up at him, tilting my chin all the way back so I can see his eyes. He's looking down at me expectantly, like he's waiting on me for something. My brow furrows.

After all the other bizzaro things that have happened today, if he's honestly offering his hand to help me up I think my head might explode.

"What?" I ask warily, eyes traveling from his face down to his hand and back up again.

Spike's scarred eyebrow shoots skyward and he extends his hand again. "My coat?"

Oh.

Oh, right.

I reach my hands around, out from the cover of the heavy leather and reach up, peeling it away from my body and passing it over to him. I watch him shake it out, making a disgusted face as he slips it back over his shoulders.

"What's wrong _now_?" I ask bitterly, already feeling the chills starting to build up my arms again.

Spike glares at me. "You," he complains, flipping the collar up on the duster as if to explain what he's referencing, adjusting the sleeves. "'S gonna take me ages to get the smell out."

I feel my expression darken as I stare up at him, mouth dropping open slightly. I so do not smell.

It's what I want to tell him, but I stop myself, knowing he'll just throw it back in my face. So I go a different way.

"I didn't _ask_ you to let me borrow it," I say, spitting the word out for emphasis, throwing it back in _his_ face that it had been _his_ idea in the first place. That he'd been the one to give the leather duster to me. Err, throw it at me.

Whatever.

Either way, my words hit a nerve. They have his lips coming together, pursing. I watch from my seated position beneath him as he clenches his jaw, the muscle there ticking once.

"No," he finally agrees, his voice low and quiet. Not at all the response I'd been expecting. "You didn't."

I refuse to be the first to break eye contact with him, wondering what it is exactly that's passing between us now. His eyes never leave mine, either, gleaming in the rapidly setting sunlight. I shiver again in spite of myself when the first breeze of the evening blows through the crack in the mausoleum's heavy door.

"C'mon then," he says suddenly, turning his back on me and stepping up to the small set of stairs I can see now leading up to said door. "Got things to do."

I nod absently, careful to keep my wrist tucked against my waist as I brace my left hand beside me and struggle to my feet. I think it's already starting to heal itself, but with as weak as I am it's going to take longer than usual unless I get some food and some medicine soon.

Spike's there to brace me when I all-to-predictably stumble forward. His long fingers wrapping firmly around my upper arms as my hip joints creak, protesting their stiffness.

He lets go of my arm and I make like I'm about to move forward, brushing past him to step out into the night when he stops me again. Wordlessly hooking one arm beneath my knees and the other across the middle of my back, he lifts me roughly against the wall of his chest before I can think about what he's doing, before I can form a coherent sentence at all.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" I ask, pushing against him, struggling in his arms. It'd be more effective if every inch of me wasn't so achey already.

I seem to be asking that question a lot.

Spike's response is to snarl low in his throat, tightening his hold on me, crushing me hard into his chest until it's almost painful. "Stop _wigglin_ '," he warns harshly, fingers digging harder into me as if to still my movements himself. Not quite hard enough to hurt me, I notice, but enough that I get the idea. "You're gonna set off that sodding spell."

I stop moving instantly at the reminder, having forgotten for a moment the reason why we're in this mess in the first place. Not that I care a whole lot if my struggling causes Spike pain, but I'm not in a big hurry to get dropped on the stone floor, either.

"I'm…" I'm about to apologize, the word _sorry_ a breath away from leaving my lips when I bite down on it, swallowing instead. I clear my throat and try to ignore the proximity of Spike's face to mine. "What are you doing?" I try again, this time remaining still in his arms. Or, as still as I can be. I'm too tense, so aware of where the leather of his coat brushes the backs of my bare legs, where his cool hand wraps around my back and upper arm to grip me.

"What's it look like I'm doin'?" he asks me for the second time tonight, teeth clenched in aggravation. "Not in a real big hurry to run into those soldier boys again, yeah? And with you goin' knock kneed every few feet we'll never make it out of here," he explains matter-of-factly. "Be faster if I just carry you."

It's funny to me that every time he makes a logical argument, I have this super intense, irrational desire to hit him. Just reach right up and slap that knowing expression of his face, that _let's-see-you-argue-with-me-now_ curve off his lips.

This close to him, though, I can't help but notice the dizzying scent that seems to surround him like a cloud. All smoke and alcohol and an earthy, musky scent that has to just be him. His skin. I can feel the subtle movement of his chest beneath my hands where I've splayed them over his t-shirt.

I swallow hard, yanking them back and folding them against my own chest to give me the most space from him as possible in our way too close position. If Spike's noticed the abrupt shift in my body language, he doesn't comment on it. And again, I'm glad.

"Ready then?" He asks me, already moving us up the small set of stairs and toward the door, nudging it open with his boot.

"Yeah," I say, and my voice sounds small in my ears. Hollow.

And then we're gone, moving at an insane speed through the quickly darkening graveyard, making it through the front gate and out onto one of Sunnydale's main roads in record time. Through the sounds of the wind whipping past us, the hazy smell of smoke and leather that's making my head a little dizzy, I manage to explain to Spike vaguely where Giles's apartment is. He nods to acknowledge me but doesn't say anything, doesn't look down, like somehow actually _seeing_ me in his arms will confirm just how far he's managed to fall in the span of twenty-four hours.

And for some completely illogical, unexplainable, totally _un_ reasonable reason, this kind of bugs me, too.

I close my eyes against the wind and wait out the rest of the way to the apartment complex, already thinking of hot showers, chicken noodle soup and Ibuprofen. The sooner I kick this definitely-making-me-delirious fever thing, the better.


	3. Chapter 3

I can't fuckin' believe I'm findin' myself like this _again_. Carryin' a half-concious Slayer in my arms for the second time in twenty-four sodding hours. And to _safety_. Christ, I'm carryin' her to _safety_ , and the plan had seemed so bloody simple before this. Before I'd come back to Sunnyhell for the third damn time. Find the girl, kill her and be done with it. Put this whole fuckin' mess and this hellhole of a town behind me and go back to South America, find Dru, prove to her how much of a demon I really am. And what have I done? Gone out of my way to protect the little bitch, and _why_? So her tweedy ponce of a Watcher can maybe tell me what the hell those soldiers did to me?

You know, of all the bloody ridiculous plans I've ever managed to think up, and subsequently _cock_ up, this has got to be the worst.

The sun hadn't quite been all the way down by the time I'd grabbed up a very wriggly Slayer and started out the cemetery, but it hadn't mattered to me. Figured it'd be just a touch more pleasant to burst into flame than be holed up in that God forsaken crypt with her for another bloody second. With her shiverin' and her whinging and her perfect little teeth click-clackin' together. And the questions. Bloody hell, the sheer amount of stupid _questions_ had almost been enough to make me launch myself across the crypt and rip her throat out, rippling shockwaves of pain be bloody damned. And no, the scent of her dryin' blood in the cramped space hadn't helped with that much, either.

Especially after I'd gotten a taste of it.

Just a taste, mind you. Just a little. But a little goes a long bloody way when it comes to Slayers. Chit'd been bleedin' a lot from the nasty cut the glass from the window'd given her. Knew she'd been cut up good and proper after the initial tumble out the glass, but hadn't known exactly where it'd been coming from. Smelled it, though. Christ, I'd smelled it. Hot and thick and fevered, makin' my stomach ache and my throat burn, all the sodding way to the crypt. Leakin' from the wound at her collar bone, stainin' her clothes the most delicious shade of red I think I've ever seen. When I'd set her down inside the crypt I'd had every intention of just lettin' her lie there, lettin' the wound stop bleedin' on it's own. It hadn't been deep, least ways not deep enough to kill the girl. She would've been fine.

So why I'd found myself kneeling beside her, tearin' the material of her top away and running the tip of my tongue all along the wound to stop the bleeding, I _still_ don't know. Like every other sodding impulsive decision I'd made durin' the night, I hadn't stopped to think twice about it. Just…did it. Never have been one to think about the consequences of my actions or any of that rot.

So okay, I mighthave misled the Slayer a bit when I'd said I hadn't done _anythin'_ to her. And again when I'd told her the sickly, feverish blood had been disgustin'. It hadn't been. It'd been…

Well, it'd been fuckin' _magnificent,_ that's what. Fire and honey, and every bleeding inch as sweet as it smells. Spiced with so much raw power that just the tiny tease I'd gotten had sent a surge through my dead veins, sending the last of the borrowed blood there boiling and rushin' all at once to a particular part of my anatomy that always seems to be just a touch more at attention whenever the Slayer's around.

Not that it means a goddamned thing, 'cause it _doesn't_. Slayer's blood, any Slayer's blood, is an aphrodisiac. Every vamp worth his salt knows that.

But all that's beside the point now, though, innit? Point is, in the span of about thirty fucking minutes, I'd rescued the girl from those soldiers, sealed her wound up _and_ found a safe place for us to hole up for the night. And that's not even counting the two separate times I'd stopped her from crackin' her sodding skull open on the stone floor of the crypt.

Stubborn bint woulda been dead at least twice over if it hadn't been for me, and what kind of thanks do I get? None. Nothing. Not a blessed word.

 _Stubborn, selfish, ungrateful little…_

The only bloody sign the Slayer'd given me at all that she knew I'd done somethin' right by her was the fact she hadn't dusted me. And I guess she'd agreed, after a lot of bloody convincin' on _my_ part, to help me out with whatever the hell's happenin' in my head. Still.

I let the Slayer, the _Slayer,_ use _my_ leather coat as a fuckin' blanket. She'd been just as damn confused as I'd been myself by _that_ little gesture, I know. I'd seen it all over her face, wrinkling' up her nose. And I'd been tellin' the truth, too. It _is_ goin' to take me ages to get that luscious scent of heated vanilla out of the leather.

Would it've killed the bitch to say the words?

I pause now, comin' to a stop and glancing down at the sleeping girl in my arms. Even resting, her lips are set in a stubborn pout, dark eyebrows that speak to the Clairol dye job all knit together.

So the answer to that is probably yes. It would've.

I shake my head and look back up, taking in my surroundings, wonderin' if the flats in front of me are in fact the right ones or if I've already buggered this up and got us turned around. I'd followed the Slayer's directions as best I could remember them. She'd closed her eyes and gone out like a light two seconds into the trek over here and the thought of waken' her up to ask her if she'd said to go right at Main street or left hadn't been overly appealin'. After seein' up close and personal what a bloody treat it is dealin' with a cranky Slayer, I'd figured lettin' her rest was better than gettin' an earful of another empty dusting threat.

But, sod it. 'Cause now we're either where we need to be or we're not, and I'm not about to just stand round out here waitin' for our Army friends to show up.

"Slayer," I say loudly, shifting her slightly in my arms to jerk her back awake. I wait until her eyes flutter open before asking, "Which one is it?"

She blinks up at me, frowning, the look on her face confused, like maybe she's forgotten everythin' that's happened over the last day. It takes just a bit longer than it should for her to recognize me. I keep my eyes on hers, raising my eyebrows and waitin' for her response. When she still looks confused after another minute I sigh, titling my head to the side toward the buildings in front of us. "Which flat is your Watcher's?"

This seems to penetrate the feverish fog clouding her eyes and she twists 'round in my arms, arching her head to the side and exposin' the long curve of her slender throat. From this angle, lookin' down at her as I am, I can see the blood pulsing in her veins.

My gums start tinglin', my fangs itching to break through and sink down into the soft flesh. Deep in my gut, my stomach twists.

 _Fuck_ , I'm starvin'.

"It's that one," she says suddenly, jarring me out of my thoughts and bringin' me back to the task at hand.

I glance toward where her eyes are, half expectin' her to be pointing it out. She isn't. Got her arms still all tucked up against her, left hand cradling the right wrist I'd broken last night. Just starin' straight ahead at a group of flats all set round in a circle.

Like I'm supposed to read her sodding mind.

I close my eyes, feeling the tension that had gone away over the past fifteen minutes or so come creeping back into my neck, the muscle in my jaw clenching tightly. "And which _one_ would that be?" I ask, the words comin' out strained through half clenched teeth.

The Slayer turns her eyes up toward me, narrowing them. "The only one I'm looking at," she says dismissively, turnin' back around to face forward.

My hands twitch, digging just a little harder into the Slayer's body as I bite back the instinctive growl that rumbles up from my chest, glaring down at her. She enjoys bein' this insanely difficult, I know she does.

I have half a mind to just drop her right here on the bloody side of the road, sniff the Watcher out myself. Would, too, if I didn't think that leavin' her crumpled up on the walk wouldn't go over so brilliantly with the old man.

Besides, don't rightly know if even _that'd_ be enough to set this buggering spell off. So dropping the bint's out of the question.

"Can't see where your bloody eyes are focused from here, can I?" I counter instead, my voice soundin' even more strained than a moment ago.

She shifts her eyes up to me again, lips set in a hard line. And then she sighs, like all the fight's just dithered away. "1C."

 _Was that so_ bloody _hard?_

"Right," I say, stepping forward and moving into the little courtyard, scannin' the numbers on each door hurriedly before finding the proper one and crossing quickly to it.

The sooner I can get the Slayer out of my arms, the better. Her body heat's been leechin' into me since we left and I can feel my skin startin' to burn where she's been pressing against me. Any longer and I swear I'll burst into flames right here.

"You wanna put me down now?" she asks me once I reach the doorstep, and I have to chuckle a little 'cause it's like she's read my mind. I'm about to let go of her when I happen to glance down and see her lookin' up at me expectantly, eyes meeting mine head on for the first time since leavin' the crypt. And I stop short.

Bloody hell, she looks awful.

The normally golden skin is a sickly shade of pale and the green of her irises is nearly swallowed up whole by the black of her pupils, hazy, glazed over. Definitely worse than they'd been earlier. Worse than I'd thought. She's still shiverin' a little, and I can see in the porch light how dry her lips are, the dark circles ringing her eyes. Been a right long time since I've had to deal with sickness of any kind, but I know it when I see it. Slayer doesn't just have a fever, she's got somethin' worse. And a day without any food or water has taken its toll.

And how do I just fuckin' _know_ I'm goin' to get blamed for this, too?

Instead of droppin' her like I'd planned, my right arm tightens a little under her legs. Can't have her sustainin' any more damage than she has already on my watch if I want to get any help from 'em at all. "Love to," I say breezily, tilting my head to the side as I look down at her. "But you're just gonna fall right over again, Slayer."

It seems perfectly reasonable to me, but 'course I should know better by now. Slayer's never been much for reason.

I watch her narrow her cloudy eyes on me, lifting her good hand to push feebly against my chest. "I'll live."

I grit my teeth, rolling my eyes skyward _. So bloody difficult._ But, you know what, fine. Slayer wants down? Who am I to tell her no?

"Suit yourself," I say, promptly droppin' my right arm away from her knees so her feet hit the ground, pulling my left arm away from her back a second later and steppin' away from her. She's able to stand on her feet for a whole two blessed seconds before I see her knees buckle beneath her. And I don't bother reachin' for her this time, either, just let her fall against the door and catch herself.

But I _do_ lean forward once her palms are flat against the wood, resting my lips at her ear and whisper a smug "Told you so."

That's what she gets for throwin' all my help back in my face.

She whips her head around toward me, where she's heard my voice, smackin' me across the face with that damn hair of hers in the process and hissin' another of her old standby's. "Shut up, Spike."

I smirk in response, leaning back and folding my arms over my chest, trappin' the heat in from where her body'd been moments before. "Why would I do that when my talkin' is botherin' you so much?"

The Slayer narrows still-hazy eyes on me, but she doesn't have quite enough energy to make it truly threatening. Just enough that I can tell she means business. "Do you want my help or not?"

Jesus, if that little sentence doesn't just suck all the bloody wind out of my sails. My smirk falls, shoulders saggin' just a touch. Stubborn little bint's got me there.

 _Bugger_.

I guess she takes my silence as her answer because she sighs, looking pained, and shakes her head. "Just…stand over there," she says, tilting her head in the direction of a big bush to the right of the doorway. "Giles'll freak if he sees you before I can figure out how to _explain_ you."

I think about arguing with her for half a mo' before deciding' it just isn't worth it. Not right now. Not with the hunger rumbling through my gut and knowin' there's no way I'll be able to feed myself until I figure out what the buggering hell's been done to me. So I comply, but not before givin' her my best sly smirk, threading my thumbs through the loops on my belt and sliding to the side. I slip into the shadows and watch the Slayer steady herself with one hand against the door, pulling the other back to give it two hard raps with her knuckles. My ears perk up when I hear shufflin' from the other side of the door, the sound of papers bein' set down, footsteps makin' their way across a wood floor.

"This oughtta be a giggle," I muse, turnin' my eyes back to the tiny, shivering blonde.

She shoots me a scathing look. "Do you _ever_ stop talking?"

I feel my eyes flash. I open my mouth to say somethin', some snappy come back, but it's just then that the door opens and light spills out onto the step. For a quick second I think the Slayer might fall right into her Watcher's arms, but she catches herself against the doorjamb before I can make another poncy impulsive decision and leap forward to catch her myself.

 _God, what the hell's_ _the_ matter _with me?_

It has to be 'cause she's sickly. She's weak and vulnerable and I can't fuckin' _kill_ her, so what else is there for it? Spent too many bloody years carin' for Dru, its just second nature to me now. This unexplainable urge I keep gettin' to keep the girl from breakin' her neck. It's left over from a hundred plus years with Dru.

That's all.

From my place in the shadows, I watch as the Watcher blinks down at his Slayer, a huge crease drawing his brows together as he takes in her appearance.

"Buffy?" he asks, eyes widening comically behind his glasses. Know exactly why, don't I? Know how rough she looks.

She gives him a nod, a small, weak smile. "Hey, Giles."

Giles. Right, _that's_ the wanker's name. Knew it was somethin' like that. Sounds like the damn butler from _Clue_. 'Course my money'd been on Jeeves, but Giles works, too.

"My God," he says, taking a step toward her, eyes scanning her face and down her body in a rush, goin' even wider at the damage. "Are you alright?"

I fight the urge to scoff out loud, but allow myself an eye roll. Does she bloody well look alright?

"I think I'm kinda sick," the Slayer says, her body shuddering like it's tryin' to illustrate her point as she does. Giles reaches for her hand, the one braced against the doorframe, and pulls it into his own.

"Yes, I can see that." He frowns, covering her hand in both of his. "Where have you been, we've been trying to get a hold of you all day."

She gives him an odd, sheepish lookin' expression. "I think this is the part where I say 'it's a long story'." She clears her throat, and her eyes shift my way for the first time since the door opened up. Just for a moment, then straight back to Giles. "Umm, can we come in?"

The Watcher blinks a few times, and I didn't think it was bloody possible, but he actually frowns harder. "We?"

"We," she says slowly, lookin' at me again and nodding, waving me forward. I step forward and wait for Giles to look my way. "As in me and Spike."

It's like he hears my name and recognizes me in the same instant, because he's suddenly gripping the Slayer's hand tighter and yankin' her over the threshold and into the flat before she's even finished sayin' it. Whole thing'd almost be funny if I wasn't feelin' particularly exposed under the glow of his porch light.

"Ow," she complains weakly, pulling her hand out of his grip and tucking it back into her chest. I can see clearly from where I'm standing that her legs are shakin' harder now then they'd been a second ago. "Giles, what are you doing?"

"What am _I_ doing?" Giles shouts, gesturin' wildly back and forth between the two of us. "Buffy, have you lost your mind?"

The Slayer responds by wrinklin' that ridiculous nose up, staring up at her Watcher with fever-glazed eyes. "I don't think so," she says, glancing briefly my way again. "But the fever's pretty bad, so—"

"I should say so," he cuts her off, voice all stern and paternal like. Makes me want to roll my eyes all over again. "You disappear for an entire day, don't tell either Willow or I where you're going, and now you want me to invite Spike— _Spike_ — into my home?"

Before I can stop it, an instinctive growl is scratching at my throat, tumbling past my lips and bringin' both pairs of eyes inside the doorway back to me. There's a sudden and violent dislike for the man in front of me, different than what I remember feelin' the first time round.

Easy to see where the Slayer gets all that self-righteous indignation from.

I step a little closer to the open door and cock my head to the side, narrowing my eyes on the old man in front of me. "You wanna tell him, pet," I begin slowly, raising both brows. "Or should I?"

I feel more than I see the Slayer glare at me, can feel those eyes of hers burnin' into me. "I told you to stop _calling_ me that," she hisses, dropping her voice down low.

I nod, half acknowledging' her and half answering' my own question. "Me it is then," I say, leaning back on my heels and titling my chin back, focusing in on the Watcher. "Your precious neck is safe, alright? I can't bite anyone." Then lower, almost under my breath, because I still can't bloody believe it myself. "Can't even _hit_ people."

He narrows his eyes skeptically at me but there's a flicker of understanding there that had been missin' a second ago, too. He looks back and forth between me and the girl standin' beside him for an extra long second before he finally focuses once more on her. "Is that true?"

She sighs, soundin' tired, and I can see her legs starting to tremble uncontrollably from having to support her own weight. "Well," she says slowly, her voice sluggish. "I'm here after spending the entire day with him." She shrugs. "All alive and everything."

"Yeah," I agree quickly, jumpin' in. "Thanks to me." I say it to remind her before she has a chance to forget our deal. Before she can weasel out. And before she can make up some ridiculous excuse to get the Watcher on her side and refusin' to help me.

But the Slayer ignores me, still explaining' my condition to Giles.

"And I've seen it," she says simply, casting another sideways glance my way. "He tried to bite me last night and couldn't."

Oh, bloody _hell_.

"He what?" Giles turns flashing eyes on me, hands curling into fists at his side. _Damnit_. "When was this?"

It's my turn to cast a hard look in the Slayer's direction, but she isn't lookin' at me.

"You know my night off?" She asks him, both her eyebrows raising high. "Very much on."

Giles frowns. "What happened, exactly?"

Oh, for the love of…we don't have _time_ for this.

"Bloody hell, she just told you," I say, exasperated, gesturin' toward her with my free hand. "Can I come inside now?"

The Watcher looks back at me, saying simply "That's very unlikely."

Fuckin' wanker.

"C'mon now," I say instead of what I _want_ to say, keepin' as tight a hold on my temper as I can. Wouldn't do to go cockin' this all up now. "What kind of thanks is that for saving your Slayer's life?"

This has Giles blinking dumbly at me again, that crease fillin' in between his eyebrows. "I'm sorry?"

"You didn't save my life, Spike," the Slayer insists, and I can see from my position the goose flesh raising all along her bare skin as she shivers in the doorway.

Any second now, those legs of hers are gonna give out.

I narrow my gaze on her, scowlin'. She wants to be a bloody brat about everythin' else, that's fine by me, but whether or not that massive ego of hers is gonna let her admit it, I _did_ save her life last night. More than once.

And why I feel like it's so important to keep remindin' her of that, I have no sodding clue.

"Not the way it looks from where I'm standin'," I say coolly, cocking my head to the side and digging my thumbs deeper into my belt loops, splayin' my fingers wide over the tops of my thighs.

To her credit, she doesn't take the bate. Just keeps glarin' at me, a gorgeous shade of red flushing her cheeks. Reminding me of the taste of her blood and makin' me hard all over again.

"You wanna _stay_ where you're standing?" she asks me heatedly, raising her eyebrows and giving me a look that might be threatening if I couldn't still clearly see the shivers wracking her tiny frame every few seconds. It's not that I miss the implied threat; it's just that it falls so bloody short it's almost laughable.

Almost.

"Least I can stand on my own," I shoot back, lowering my lashes down to her shakin' knees and sweeping them slowly back up to her face. Her cheeks flush red hot again and she clenches her jaw tight.

 _God_ , that's glorious.

We stare each other down for a moment before a particularly violent shudder courses through her, causin' her knees to buckle and the man beside her reach out and grab her around the upper arm.

I roll my shoulders back and look away from 'em both, ignorin' the instinctive lurch my own body had made forward at the sight.

 _Force of habit_ , I think again firmly. _Nothin' more._

"Good Lord," Giles says suddenly, and I whip my gaze back to them. He's got the back of his free hand pressed against the Slayer's flushed forehead now. "Buffy, you're burning up."

Jesus. For a Watcher he isn't very perceptive, is he? Any ninny could see how bad a state the girl's in from a mile away, and all without havin' to _feel_ for it.

"Like I said," the Slayer says, her voice sounding weaker now. "Fever." She shakes again, and the Watcher's grip tightens. "I think it's the flu or something."

Or somethin' is right. Chit's about to keel over any bloody second.

"Yeah, a fever which'd be a whole sodding lot worse if you were holed up in one of those cells I was tellin' you about earlier," I say snidely, pointin' out my role in saving the Slayer's skin once again for good measure.

Giles looks at me. "Cells?"

She nods. "Spike has some pretty up close and way too personal info on my storm trooper pals." She shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, a pained expression cross in' her features. "They attacked us last night—"

But Giles cuts her off sharply, eyes widening and lookin' like his grip on her arm is tightening instinctively. "The commandos attacked a girls _dormitory_?"

She nods again, a light sheen of sweat forming across her hairline, over her top lip. "Another part of the long story." She shifts from foot to foot one more time, closing her eyes and opening them again slowly. "Giles…I think I need to sit."

Finally, a little taste of logic from the girl. Not that I care one wit if she decides to take care of herself or not, but she needed to _sit_ the second I set her down on her feet.

Her Watcher frowns, steppin' a little closer to her. "Buffy?"

And…there she goes. Eyes roll back in her head, knees finally give out and she all but bloody swoons into her Watcher's waitin' arms.

 _Christ._

"Slayer needs water," I say simply, watchin' from my place on the threshold as he lifts her up into his arms and carries her quickly back into his flat, laying her down across the sofa in the center of the room. "Hasn't had any all day. Maybe some medicine, or what all. Help—"

"I'm well aware of how to treat the flu, Spike," he cuts me off, glaring over at me as he yanks a blanket off the back of the sofa and covers her with it, tucking it tightly in around her. "Thank you."

I glare back at him, narrowing my eyes as he stands up and crosses back to the doorway. "Just sayin, is all."

I watch from the open doorway as he forces some water down her throat, tucks the thick blanket tighter around her shaking body, pushes the damp hair away from her forehead.

Like he's all but forgotten about me.

I actually think he _has_ forgotten about me when his eyes finally shoot up, pinning me with a hard look I wouldn't have thought a Watcher to be capable of. As weak as the Slayer's fevered attempts at intimidation had been, sod all if this look he's givin' me now doesn't make up for all of it.

"You kept the commandos from taking her?" he asks after a minute, folding his arms across the poncy sweater he's wearing and tilting his head back so he's lookin' down at me.

Have we _not_ been through this already?

"Yeah," I say angrily, all out of whatever patience had blessedly kept me from tearin' into the Slayer all day today. "Slayer and I made ourselves a deal. Now lemme in." I glance behind my shoulder, like I'm half expectin' to see someone waiting behind me. "Who knows where those soldier boys have got off to."

Giles regards me with steely eyes for a moment before reaching up and pullin' his glasses off. "And you're sure you can't bite anyone?"

"Trust me, mate," I say, a wry smile twisting the corner of my mouth. "Would've torn the Slayer's throat out twice over after spendin' an entire day with her if I could've."

It's funny. Of all the things we've told him, everythin' said between the Slayer and myself since gettin' here, that this is the one thing that seems to convince him that I'm…and it pains me to even have to think the fuckin' word… _safe_.

Oh, _God_.

"Fine," Giles says slowly, putting his glasses back on and steppin' backward. "On one condition."

At this point, I'm willing to agree to just about anythin' if it means gettin' inside and away from those trigger happy pseudo soldiers.

So I nod. "Whatever you say."

Should've made the ponce specify the condition he was talkin' about before agreein' to it like a blind idiot. In fact, I should start makin' that a habit in general. Save myself a lot of bloody trouble, that would.

Sure as hell wouldn't be tied to a sodding chair in the middle of the Watcher's living room if I had.

"Havin' a hard time seein' how all this claptrap is necessary," I complain loudly, watchin' through narrowed eyes as her Watcher lays a cool cloth against the Slayer's forehead and continues to ignore me. He's pretty much been ignorin' me since he'd invited me in, too absorbed in carin' for the half conscious blonde on the sofa. "Slayer told you herself, I can't _bite_ you."

Wouldn't even if I could, I'd wager. Poncy bugger's gettin' up there in age. Probably already too old to eat.

Giles rolls his eyes, pressing the cloth more firmly into the girl's forehead and glancing back at me. "You'll forgive me for not taking the word of a soulless demon and a fevered slayer." He stands back up and crosses to a free chair on the opposite end of the room from me, rollin' his sleeves up and leaning down onto his legs. "Why is it you think you can't bite anymore?" His eyes narrow skeptically, one brow perking. "You said it…gave you a _headache_?"

I scowl at him, cursing my own poor choice of words when I' tried explainin' the pain the first time. Bloody stupid, that, makin' it sound like it's nothin' more than a housewife's go to excuse not to shag.

"Bit more than that, mate," I say now, voice low, strainin' the muscles in my arms against the ropes tied around them. "This wasn't some ruddy migraine." I sniff, rollin' my shoulders back. "Felt like someone was stabbin' me in the back of the head and smashin' me into a brick wall at the same time."

There. _That_ has his eyes widening, sittin' back in his chair like he gets it now.

"And you have no idea what the commandos might have done to you to cause that…kind of reaction?" he asks after a minute.

I roll my eyes, jaw ticking. I've only said just that a thousand bloody times.

"What I said, innit?" I ask tersely, clenching' my hands into fists and flexing them back open again where they're bound at the wrist. "Was hopin' you'd be able to tell me what this is. If it's a spell or a hex or—."

"And why is that?" he asks coolly, cuttin' me off and making me pause, mid-sentence.

I look at him from across the room, frowning. It's not obvious? "You're the Watcher, yeah? Aren't you lot supposed to…" I trail off, sighing, lookin' up to the ceiling. "You know, read books and know things and all that rot?"

I guess it's the Watcher's turn to roll his eyes, a small scoffing noise escaping his lips. "I believe that _is_ the official job description, yes," he says dryly, eyes landing on the shivering form of the girl on the sofa. The frown lines around his mouth deepen.

He hadn't been too happy hearin' about how those wankers had shot his slayer in the back, figurin' the same thing I had about it not doin' much to help with the illness.

"Are you saying you think it's some sort of spell?" Giles asks finally, turning away from the Slayer and back to me.

"Dunno, do I?" I ask, followin' his eye line toward the Slayer just as she makes a little whimperin' sound and rolls over, burying her flaming' cheek into the pillow. She looks so bloody small like this. Weak and small and sickly. It doesn't seem…right. Not the way I ever picture the girl when I'm imaginin' ending her life, riding myself of her once and for all. The crypt had been too dark, even for me, to really see the number the fever'd been doin' on her.

I clear my throat and look away from her quickly, rolling my shoulders back again. "Wouldn't rightly need either of you if I did."

Giles looks back at me and nods, like he's either just figured somethin' out or is makin' sense of it for the first time. "This is why you saved Buffy, then," he says quietly, leaning to press his back all the way into his chair. "So we'd help you find out what's been done to you."

I shift forward a little, tilting my head down and narrowin' my eyes. "Well, _yeah_ ," I say. Like it should be obvious, because it bloody well should be. I lean back again, shaking my head. "Why the bloody hell else would I have willingly put up with _that_ all day."

Right on cue, the Slayer's eyes pop open and she eyes me angrily from her position on the sofa. "I can still hurt _you_ , you know," she says huffily, bringing one hand up and tucking it under her chin, shiverin'. Again, the whole thing might be a little bit threatening if she didn't have her cheek smashed into the pillow.

My lips twitch up into a half-smirk.

I'll give the bint points for tryin', though.

"And she lives," I say sarcastically, lookin' at her but inclining my head toward Giles. "Slayer, can you please tell Watcher boy here that the ropes are a little excessive?"

She looks at me for a minute before rolling over onto her back, shifting up slightly on the pillows and tossing a glance in Giles's direction. "I think they're just the right amount of cessive," she says passively, pulling the blanket up a little higher and obviously fightin' hard not to shiver.

 _Bitch_.

I glare at her, pursing my lips together. Probably should've expected this.

"Do you think you could eat something, Buffy?" Giles asks, gettin' up to his feet and moving across the room to pull the wash cloth away and feel her forehead again. "It might help bring the fever down more efficiently."

"Sure," she says, reaching a shakin' hand out to the glass of water on the table beside her. She takes a small sip, waits a minute, then downs the whole thing in a few big gulps.

The Watcher nods and smiles down at her, taking the cloth in his hand and movin' around the sofa, back toward where I can see what looks like a tiny kitchen. "Soup?"

"Chicken and Stars?" The Slayer asks hopefully, and the snort is out before I can stop it. She whips her head back toward me, eyes narrowed, lips a thin line. I roll my eyes. "Or whatever you have is great," she says quickly, sinkin' back into the pillows. "Thanks."

I wait until I hear banging in the kitchen before I lean forward, as far as the buggering ropes'll let me, and hiss a low "We had a deal" into the Slayer's ear closest to me.

She doesn't even bother to look at me when she answers, which only makes my jaw clench harder. "Yeah," she agrees flatly, closin' her eyes. "To let you pick Giles's brain. I never said anything about you being all free wheeling while you do it."

I scowl at her, sinking back in the chair and huffing. Fuckin' semantics.

"C'mon, Slayer," I needle her, voice still low as I try and wiggle a little against the ropes. I can barely even move my hands, they're tied so bloody tight. "The damn things are cuttin' off my circulation."

I watch as her eyes pop back open and she shifts them toward me, the brow closest to me raised high. "You don't have any circulation."

She's got me there.

"Well," I say slowly instead, thinkin' of the next best excuse and finding it. "It _pinches_."

The Slayer shakes her head and turns away from me, rollin' her eyes up to the ceiling. "And you think I complain a lot?"

"You know," I begin, my temper flaring dangerously. "Isn't it enough that I've been effectively—"

"Neutered?" she offers brightly, glancin' sideways at me, big fake smile on her face.

"Oi!" I shout on instinct, bringing the Watcher's eyes back toward me. I ignore him, fixated as I am on the infuriation' little blonde chit in front of me. I lower my voice to a deadly murmur. "Isn't it enough humiliation that I can't kill you? That I actually need to rely on you, of all fuckin' people, for help? No." I shake my head, sittin' back in the chair again. "You and your great white hat have to strip away the rest of whatever bleeding dignity I have left."

I catch myself, figure out what I've just said a second too late. I've admitted more in this cute little diatribe of mine than I'd wanted to. Let the bint in on more than I'd planned. That not only is this cute little handicap of mine demoralizin', it's downright humiliating. Cripplin'. It's been a long bloody time since I've felt anythin' even close to vulnerability. _True_ vulnerability. A hundred years at least. Maybe not even since William. Though, God, that's not exactly true is it? if I'm real honest with myself I know there were times with Angelus where I'd felt vulnerable, and certainly bloody well humiliated. And weak.

But not like _this_. Not like a caged animal. Defanged, declawed, like a goddamn house cat. And what if nothing's to be done about it? If this is it, this horrible…helplessness, for the rest of my fuckin' unlife?

 _No._

I'm a vampire, for Christ's sake. I don't _do_ vulnerable. I make other people vulnerable. And I sure as shit don't do things like protect the _Slayer_. Like rely on her and her lot for _help_. Bloody hell, whatever it is those sods did to me is makin' me go daft in the melon, too.

Fuck, I _hate_ this.

Beside me, the Slayer in question just rolls her eyes, blissfully oblivious to the horrors tumbling' round in my head, and makes a weird little scoffing sound.

"Now you're just being dramatic," she says, catching my eye and pinning me with a darkly amused look.

I feel my expression darken as I look at her. Finds this whole thing funny, does she? She wants to play it that way? Fine.

"Yeah?" I counter, tilting my head back and raising both eyebrows. "I'm not the one who swooned on the doorstep not twenty minutes ago."

And it's just as I thought. The amused look vanishes instantly, her eyes goin' dark, flashing at me, her mouth dropping open just slightly. There's that righteous anger I love _so_ much. "I so did not _swoon_ ," she argues, sounding every inch the valley girl. Her voice pitches high, settin' my teeth on edge.

"You did," I disagree, more to push her buttons than anythin' else, my own smug smirk falling back in place. "And I should know." I roll my eyes toward the ceiling, thinkin' of just how much bloody experience I do have with birds and their fainting spells. "God knows I've seen it enough times."

"I didn't swoon," she insists huffily, pullin' the blanket up closer to her chin as another chill races through her. She shifts her eyes toward me, under the cover of her lashes. "I just…the fever made me really tired."

My lips twitch. _Right_.

I lean toward her slightly, lowerin' my voice and curling my tongue up behind my top teeth. "Whatever keeps your holier than thou knickers nice and untwisted, luv."

And, oh, there's that delicious blush again. Brilliant. Almost makes all the rest of this shit worth while.

The Slayer glares at me, the effect a touch lessened by the color in her cheeks even with her jaw clenched tight. "I told you—"

"To stop callin' you that," I say, cutting her off and mockin' her voice in a pitch that's way too bloody high. But it's damn funny. "Yeah." I narrow my eyes on her. "I know. Just don't bleeding care."

She stares me down for a minute before she suddenly clears her throat, never takin' her eyes off mine as she shouts, "Giles, I think the ropes are coming loose." She tilts her head to the side in a silent challenge, and my hands twitch to reach up and wring her slender neck. "You might need to tighten them—"

My eyes go wide.

" _Alright_ already," I hiss, cutting her off again and shootin' daggers out my sodding eyes at her. Then quieter, under my breath. "Ungrateful bitch."

I'd meant for her to hear me, so when she makes a choked laughin' sound I'm not surprised.

"Are we forgetting you only _saved_ me because you couldn't _kill_ me?" she asks, her teeth gritted together as she shifts her body up a little higher on the pillows and twists to face me. She's closer to bein' eye level with me now.

"What do you want me to say?" I ask angrily, my teeth gritted together, too. I keep scowlin' at her, exhaling more unneeded air through my nose. "Evil, remember?"

There's a hot, seething hatred burnin' up the inside of my chest now as I stare at her. No one's ever pushed my buttons like this buggering slip of a girl.

"How could we forget," Giles says dryly, not even botherin' to look my way as he rounds the edge of the couch and reaches a hand out toward the Slayer. He's holding a mug with a spoon inside of it, swirls of steam rolling off the top. "Try and eat this."

"Thanks," she says, her voice suddenly all sugar and honey as she looks at him. She smiles and pulls her tiny hands out from the blanket her Watcher had tucked around her, reaching up and taking the mug from him. I watch sourly, still boil in' up on the inside from our scuffle moments before, as she sits up slightly. Taking the soup between her hands and pursing her mouth, she blows out a stream of cool air that cuts the steam. My eyes shoot to her lips immediately. Unthinkingly, like everythin' else involving her, without even realizing I'm doing it. I watch her blow another stream of air out, lips formin' a perfect little "o". They're a good deal pinker now then they'd been outside. Less dry, bit softer.

I don't even bloody realize I'm starin' at her until I hear Giles clear his throat, causing me to jerk my attention back toward him. He's givin' me a look, raised eyebrows and another one of those deep creases in his brow.

And had the blighter really just caught me starin' at the Slayer's fucking _lips_?

"What?" I ask, voice venemous and low and narrowin' my eyes to slits. Daring the old man to say somethin' about it.

He doesn't.

"Are you going to tell us this information you have regarding the commandos or not?" he asks me coolly instead, crossin' his arms.

I open my mouth to say somethin' but I'm interrupted by the loud rumbling in my stomach, stopping me short and making me reconsider which way I want to play this. Already know I can't feed myself, and it's not like I have any money to speak of. Never needed it before. So if I'm gonna be bloody well stuck here, at the mercy of the Slayerettes, I shouldn't be too quick to tip my hand, yeah?

"Depends," I say, eyeing the older man and leaning back in my chair, hollowing my cheeks. "When do I get fed?"

They both turn to look at me, blinking. The Slayer frowns, dropping her spoon back into her soup with a clink. "What?"

"You heard me," I say simply, looking at her and then back to her Watcher. "Slayer's gettin' food, what about me? 'S been days since I've eaten properly."

It's true, too. Locked inside that ruddy hell hole for three days and all I'd had to eat was a packet of cold pig's blood. Hardly a proper meal even it _hadn't_ been drugged. And after havin' that one little taste of slayer blood last night, the hunger burnin' the back of my throat has only gotten steadily worse.

"Getting you take out wasn't part of the deal, Spike," The Slayer's sayin' now, her voice biting and hard.

I turn flashing eyes on her, voice growling and low. "I'm _makin'_ it part of the deal, Goldilocks." I shift a touch closer to her, gettin' my nose as close to hers as I can. Chit's like a sodding heat lamp, can feel the fever radiating off her skin from here. "Whether you like to think so or not, I bloody well _did_ save your life. And I have info you're keen on knowin'." I pause, cocking my head to the side and offering a wry, smug grin. "But I might just be too hungry to remember everythin'."

Her mouth falls open, and she whips her eyes toward Giles then quickly back to mine. "So, what?" she asks, leaning forward and slammin' the soup mug down on the table so hard the wood below it splinters. "Now we have to feed you and listen to you complain about _'_ _saving'_ me?"

And she puts the word in air quotes. Bloody _air quotes_. I open my mouth to call her an ungrateful little bitch again but the Watcher beat's me to it, cutting me off.

"Buffy," he says her name softly, drawin' her eyes back toward him, giving her a slight shake of his head. She clams up real quick, casting one more sideways glance my way before turnin' and staring straight forward.

"I'll uh...go the butcher shop tomorrow." Giles stands back up, reaching a hand up and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Ha. Looks like _he's_ the one with the headache, now. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait until then."

"Then _I'm_ afraid the two of you'll have to wait for that information," I say breezily, giving them each a Cheshire grin and leanin' back in my chair, wishing my hands were free to prop my head up. Giles doesn't say anything, just glances once more at his Slayer and mumbles somethin' under his breath as he walks back to the kitchen.

The Slayer, though, is a different story. Her eyes are glued to my face, and Christ, if looks could stake.

"I should've known you were gonna pull this crap," she says angrily, her voice low, a fresh flush making it's way across her cheeks that's gotta be from pure irritation. She wants to hit me. God, she wants to hit me so bloody badly I can _taste_ it. I'd seen this same look on her face a couple'a times back in the crypt, and I'd known it then, too.

My lips twist into a full-blown smirk.

I guess if I can't kill the chit, I can settle for irritatin' her, yeah? If it'll get me that flush of heat and color whenever I do, it might just be the next best thing.

"Yeah," I agree smoothly, "you should've."

* * *

Spending the night at Giles's is weird enough, but combine that level of weird with the bleached blonde vamp tied to the kitchen chair across the room and the softly snoring sounds of my Watcher upstairs, and we've reached a full blown case of the wiggins.

I'd told Giles I'd be fine to go back to my dorm tonight, or even stay at Mom's house, but he'd insisted I stay here, at least until the fever and the chills go away. I mean, sure, he'd _claimed_ it was for my best interest, and for Willow's. We'd called her earlier to let her know where I was, and that I was fine. She'd been way relieved, of course, but she hadn't sounded very excited about living with a sickly roommate. Thus, the insisting of Giles that I stay here tonight for my own good.

But I'm definitely beginning to think it's more about him not wanting to be left here alone with Spike. Which is all fine and good and whatever when my Watcher gets to disappear up to his bedroom and I'm stuck down here with _him_.

I've been pretending to be asleep for the last hour and a half.

Spike's been letting me pretend to be asleep for the last hour. The first half he'd spent complaining about the ropes pinching and his stomach "gurgling" and asking me if I know what happens to vamps that don't get to feed. I'd ignored him.

And I'd thought about today. Today, in the crypt. The weird stuff with him catching me before I could fall and split my skull open, holding me up so I didn't crash to the ground. Giving me his coat. God, that _stupid_ coat. It's been practically all I could think about all night. The scent of the aged leather and smoke and the warm heaviness of it draped over my legs.

And the fact that he'd offered it to me. Like, what _was_ that all about? Sure, he'd _said_ it was about my whole teeth chattering issue, but it's been nagging at me all night tonight. Well, all night that I've been _conscious_ , anyway.

I'm hit again by the thought I'd had earlier today. That the vampire not killing me is totally different than the vampire helping me. Even rescuing me from the commmandos—which, yeah, I can admit now, in the dark, to _myself,_ that that's what he'd done— doesn't make that much sense. I know enough about Spike to know how impulsive he is. He hardly ever, _ever_ , thinks things through. So I seriously doubt he'd had this whole Buffy bargaining chip thing figured out in his head before he'd brought me with him to that crypt.

So I have to wonder _why_.

Even though I know there's pretty close to zero chance I'll be getting a non-zigzaggy answer from Spike. Maybe he doesn't even know. Maybe it doesn't even matter. Maybe I should just focus on the fact that he rescued me at all and that I'm all safe and sound at Giles's, that I'm not currently having some kind of creepy experiments being done on me. That we're going to get some kind of information out of the whole deal, to boot. And yeah, maybe I _should_ just be grateful no matter what the bleached menace's motives had been.

Maybe.

But it bugs, and I can't shake it.

And I definitely can't _sleep_.

It's not the fever anymore I don't think. Things had started to clear up a little, get less fogged out once I'd woken up from that majorly embarrassing not-a-swoon incident. The soup and the water and the medicine Giles had make me take have all gone a little ways in the making me feel like _me_ again department. The chills have stopped, too, which is super nice, even if it's left every muscle in my body feeling like a big puddle of goo. So even though my head's all with the clearing, my body doesn't feel like it cares much. Which basically leaves me trapped on the couch, nothing to do or think about other than the soft in and out of Spike's wiggy, needless breathing to my right.

Rhythmic, slow, quiet but still way too loud, and if I have to focus on it for one more second I think my head's going to bust open.

"Why do you do that?" I ask suddenly, rolling over onto my side so I can see the vampire's face. If my sudden question's startled him, he doesn't show it. Just gazes back at me, blue eyes glittering in the dark.

I can see him frown at me. "Do what now?"

" _Tha_ t," I say pointedly, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest in the moonlight. He raises an eyebrow. I roll my eyes. "Breathe, Spike. I don't get it."

The vampire chuckles and rolls his eyes. "We'll just add that to the list then, shall we?"

I glare at him, shifting my weight onto my elbow so I can sit up and see him better. "Could you just answer my question for once instead of being a pain in the ass?" I ask, frustrated with the snarky Blues Travelers routine he's been playing with us all night. The vamp may have saved me from whatever the commandos had had planned, but that definitely doesn't give him free reign here. Ere go— ropes. He wants our help, the least he can do is answer a simple question without the run around.

The vampire looks back at me and sighs, shoulders sagging a little as he answers my question with another question. "Why do you want to know?"

I blink at him, caught off guard. I guess I hadn't expected him to want to know _why_ I was asking.

"Because," I say slowly, keeping my voice quiet, looking for the first available excuse for wanting to know. For bothering to ask in the first place. "It's weird." I frown deeper. "You don't need to."

This has the corner of his mouth twisting upwards, cheeks hollowing out as he looks at me. "Do a lot of things I don't _need_ to, Slayer," he says dismissively, but I don't think either of us miss the double meaning there, whether he's meant it or not. Then he pauses, tilting his head to the side and narrowing his gaze on my face. "Why's it buggin' you so bloody much?"

"I don't know," I admit after a long second, my eyes never leaving his. Then, much more quietly now, feeling weird for having brought it up at all, "Probably because most vamps don't breathe."

"Yeah?" He says, both eyebrows shooting skyward. "Well, I'm not most vamps."

There's another weird doubly meaning to the words and something in his expression makes me feel funny, makes my stomach do a flippy thing. "Whatever," I say, not knowing what else to do now. I swallow, my mouth feeling all cottony and roll back over onto my back, closing my eyes, letting my gooey muscles sink into the pillows. I take a deep breath and exhale, paying extra attention to the air as it fills up my lungs, then again as it leaves them. Halfway wondering just before I fall asleep if it'd be a habit I could break if I ever stopped needing to do it.


	4. Chapter 4

The fever is back with a fantastic hell demony kind of vengeance by the time morning comes around. And it's brought it's little buddies, the chills, back with it. The blanket on top of me isn't warm enough, heavy enough. I'm shaking again.

I'd barely slept at all last night, the super fun shivering starting back up again about halfway through the night. Or maybe it had just been my Slayer senses acting up, little tinglies running down my spine, all too hyper aware of the up-until-recently very dangerous vamp camped out beside me.

 _Spike._

God, it's a mini miracle I'd been able to get any sleep at all with him here. Even if it had been only little snippets here and there, dozing off for a few minutes at a time only to be woken up again by…something. Seemed like it was a different something every time. A rustling sound, straining ropes, wood scraping over wood, the still way too loud breathing thing from Mr. I-Don't-Need-to-Breathe-but-I'll-Do-It-Anyway-to-Annoy-You.

I grimace, thanking the PTB in the moment that I hadn't said _that_ out loud when I'd been arguing with Spike about which of us is the worse living room mate earlier this morning.

 _Stupid flu_.

Although to be all's fair in love and sickness, I can't blame the entire not being able to sleep thing on Spike. It's not like I don't _know_ how being sick affects me. All with the big cranky and the tossing and turning. It's just been so long since I've had to deal I think I've sorta forgotten how.

"Here," Giles says to me now, moving around the edge of the couch from the kitchen. He hands me a fresh glass of water and two more little red pills. Tylenol, probably, the same as last night. "Take this."

I reach a trembling hand out and take the medicine from him, popping it into my mouth and finishing the glass of water in three long sips, handing it back to my Watcher. "Thanks," I murmur, pulling the blanket up more tightly around my shoulders.

"Of course," he says quietly, "but those were the last two." Giles looks down at me frowning, putting his hand against the back of my forehead. "I'll have to stop by the pharmacy as well as the butcher shop today." He turns from me to head back toward the kitchen, then pauses and glances back. "Unless you'd rather go to the doctor—"

"No," I say immediately, cutting him off and shaking my head. He gives me Watchery eyebrow raise, and I sigh. "I'll be fine in a couple days, Giles. It's just the flu," I say, sounding more confident than I think I actually feel. "Aren't you just supposed to like wait it out, or something?"

Not that I know. But it must be at least partly right, because Giles just nods and seems to consider what I've said.

I burrow further under the blanket, lifting my good hand out to wipe a thin sheen of sweat off my forehead before tucking it back beneath. My broken wrist is still tweaking a little when I try and use it, which is weird. I would've thought it'd be all fixed up by now. I mean, sure, I know it was broken and breaks do take a little more time to heal than more minor aches and pains, but still.

"Should drink more water," Spike pipes up from my left, his voice casual and a little bored, still somehow managing to make me jump. Probably because he's been quiet for a whole five minutes. That's gotta be some kind of record or something.

I twist to the side, turning my cheek into the pillow so I can see him. He's still seated in the stiff backed wooden chair beside me, but he's no longer tied as tightly down to it. After all the complaining he'd done, Giles had finally caved early this morning and loosened the ropes around Spike's chest and arms, and even removed some of them so the vampire can do his signature sprawling thing. Both his legs are kicked out wide on either side of the chair now, one straight out and the other bent up. Looking way too comfy and casual for a vampire who's not a whole lot more than a glorified hostage right now.

I glare at him.

"Did I not _just_ drink some?" I ask, going for snippy but failing pretty miserably. My voice is hoarse and scratchy.

Spike rolls his eyes before looking at me, scowling. "Said _more_ , didn't I?"

I open my mouth to say something back, not really sure _what_ exactly, but Giles clears his throat and cuts me off before I can. Probably for the best. The fever's doing a great job making my normally quick quips less with the quick and more with the lame. "Are you going to be okay to watch Spike while I'm out?" Giles asks, directing the question at me from over his shoulder as he moves back around the edge of couch and places the empty water glass with a clink on the counter top I can just barely see from where I'm resting.

"Don't need a bleeding babysitter," the vampire grumbles, and now it's my turn to roll my eyes.

Giles crosses back to stand in front of me, angling his body between mine and the vampire beside me.

"I disagree," he says simply, not looking at Spike but focusing on me instead. He raises his eyebrows expectantly. "Buffy?"

I'm not sure why he's even asking. It isn't like he wouldn't still have to go out and get blood for bleach boy and more medicine for me even if I said I wasn't up to vampsitting. Besides, Spike's tied to a chair. How much _real_ trouble can he be?

And doesn't _that_ feel a little famous last wordsy.

"We'll be fine, Giles," I tell him simply, shivering again, pressing my shoulders deeper into the pillows and nodding when he peers down at me from over the rims of his glasses. "Really."

Giles looks a little like he doesn't believe me. He turns skeptical eyes to my left. "Spike?"

"Oh, _what_ ," the vampire snarls, lips twisting in a sneer. "What the fuck do you think _I'm_ gonna do?" I hear him shift slightly, the straining sound of the ropes as he illustrates his next point. "Tied to this sodding chair, ain't I?"

"Yes, you are," my Watcher says, tossing another narrowed glance Spike's way before stepping closer to me. He leans down and brushes his hand over my brow again, making a face that makes me think I'm not looking or feeling so hot. Or is it _too_ hot.

Either way.

He drops his hand away from me and exhales, turning one last wary glance Spike's direction before promising us both that he'll be back soon.

I nod, watching him step around the couch, listening to his footsteps as he moves toward the front door. I listen to him leave, to the front door open and close, and then silence. An awkward, heavy silence. I can feel Spike's eyes on my face even though I'm being real careful not to look at him. I don't know why it's been getting increasingly more difficult for me to make eye contact with him. Ever since last night. Or maybe the day before, I don't know. Whenever it was _exactly_ I'd noticed how insanely blue his stupid eyes are.

I shift my gaze sideways, looking at him through the cover of my lashes and catch him staring straight back at me. I jerk my eyes back forward and swallow against the dryness in my throat.

 _Oh, boy_.

This is going to be a long day.

* * *

Well, this is a tickle, innit?

All that bloody effort to get myself _away_ from bein' stuck in such close quarters with the Slayer last night, riskin' life and limb..well, limb anyway, to get away from that sodding crypt. To get away from that crypt and the intoxicatin' scent of her blood, the heat of her skin, the responsibility of makin' sure the stupid bint doesn't maim herself. These poofterish tendencies toward feelin'…whatever the bloody hell it is that makes me want to…

Sod it.

Point is, here we are again. The two of us, stuck together in this sorry excuse for a flat, no more than three sodding feet apart.

Only this…this is so much fuckin' worse, because now _neither_ of us can move.

 _And_ my goddamn smokes are in the pocket of my coat. Across the bloody room.

So this is brilliant. Bloody starvin', tied to a chair, a matter of a few measly inches away from the most luscious blood I've ever tasted and without a chance in all hell of gettin' anywhere near it again. Least not the way I'd always imagined I would. No. Until I get this buggering spell reversed, only way I'm ever gettin' near the Slayer's precious throat again is if I—

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, forcin' the traitorous thought out before it can take any sort of hold and get whatever blood's left in my veins flowin' places it shouldn't be. Bloody hell, _that_ doesn't even bear thinkin' about.

Eyes still shut tight, I tilt my head back, willin' to wager catching a little kip'll go a ways in helpin' me ignore the hungry knots in my gut. Besides that, I'm bloody exhausted. Didn't get a wink of sleep the day before, despite pretendin' a majority of the day to be out. Hadn't lied when I'd told the chit I hadn't felt like talkin'.

Still don't, really. Not to her. But Jesus, I'm so bored. So bloody bored. Have been since the Watcher'd scarpered off to bed last night and left me down here alone with the Slayer. Hadn't minded too much at first. Thought it was too bloody funny, how irritated she'd gotten with me over somethin' so small. But then she'd argued with me about it, got me to thinkin' about the reasons I _do_ do all those bloody things I don't need to. And then, wouldn't you just know it, the little bitch had rolled back over, closed those eyes of hers and left me to my own devices. The treacherous thoughts tumblin' all 'round in my head.

A dangerous fuckin' thing to do, that.

Especially as of late.

Or…not so of late, if you listen to _some_ people. Slayer'd got herself stuck in my head long before now, accordin' to Drusilla. Part of the reason Dru'd left me, yeah? Got it in her head, read it in the stars or some such bollocks. She was always readin' things where they weren't, my princess. Wrong as often as she was right. 'S why I'd come back here in the first place. To prove her wrong. To destroy the one thing standin' between me and my black goddess. Kill her and be done with the whole sodding mess. _All covered in the Slayer_ , she'd said. _I taste like bloody ashes_ , she'd said.

I'd come back to this miserable town to prove that whatever it was Dru had seen couldn'a been further from the truth, and _this_ is where I find myself.

Christ.

So no, don't rightly feel like talkin' to the girl, but there doesn't seem to be much else for it. Either talk to her or sit here and let my mind wander off, thinkin' things I know damn well I have no bloody right to be thinkin' in the first place.

Suckin' in a deep breath, exhaling through pursed lips, I wait it out, fightin' back whatever faithless thoughts are forcin' themselves to the surface for another precious few minutes before I give up. Sleep won't come, not with my tummy rumblin' the way it is, with my head racing like this.

Distraction's the only way to go here.

"Slayer," I say, poppin' one eye open and glancing toward the girl on the sofa. She has her eyes closed, rolled over onto her side now, tucked back into the cushions. Might actually think she was sleepin' if it weren't for the thuddin' of her heart beat. Slower than it should be if she's awake, but irregular enough to clue me in that she is. Breathin's off, too.

"Slayer?" I try again, using my body weight to lift and shift my chair over to the side so I'm angled more in front of her.

Nothin'. Chit doesn't shift one sodding inch.

I frown at her.

So she's pretendin' again, is she? Just like she'd been doin' last night. Fine. Bitch is that hell bent on ignorin' me, two can play at that. I close my eyes again and sink down further into the chair, stretchin' my legs out as far as I can, and set to ignorin' _her_.

It works, too.

For about thirty blessed seconds before the sounds of a shiverin' Slayer reach my ears, and my eyes pop open again.

"Really should drink more water," I tell her snarkily, sighing, knowin' she can damn well hear me even if she pretends she can't. Her eyes stay closed. I grit my teeth, shaking my head and wonderin' why I'm even botherin'.

But I can't keep the next words from comin' out, clenchin' my jaw tight as soon as they do.

"Keepin' yourself hydrated might do somethin' for those chills."

 _Not that I care_ , I think firmly, mentally kickin' myself.

But somethin' I've said must strike a chord with the Slayer, 'cause a second later her eyes flutter open and focus on me. Narrowed, glitterin' and hard.

"Thanks for the tip, Florence, but I'm _fine_." She lifts herself up on a shaking arm and rolls onto her back, away from me, starin' straight up at the ceiling. "Slayer healing will take care of the fever."

"Right," I say, narrowin' my own eyes on her, sneering even though she isn't lookin' at me to see it. "Same way that fancy Slayer healin' fixed the nasty break in your wrist?"

It's a guess. I've no fuckin' clue whether or not that break in her wrist has started healin' up or not. Haven't seen her favoring it, though I doubt the stubborn bint'd be willin' to show me even if she was.

But when she whips her head back around to look at me, eyes wide as bleeding saucers, I wager that I'm onto somethin'.

Feelin' right smug with myself, and for good reason, I let a slow smirk spread across my lips and tilt my head to the side. "Preturnatural healing 's only as good as your health, pet." I raise my eyebrows at her, watchin' as she stops and the scowl melts off her face long enough to actually hear what it is I'm sayin' to her. I shake my head. "Won't work on that fever so long as you _have_ the bloody fever."

She blinks at me, like it's the first she's thought about it. Christ, is the council teaching anythin' to their girls anymore? Sure, endow the Chosen One with all sorts of fancy super powers and never explain one wit about how any of 'em bloody work. Again, I find myself marvelin' at the fact the silly bint's lived this long. 'S a bleeding miracle. Startin' to think I know a sight well more about her Slaying powers than even _she_ does.

Also startin' to think there isn't much I can say to the girl that won't have her cheeks flamin' red. Not that I mind _that_ one sodding bit.

Oh, bloody hell. That nasty scowl is back.

"Nobody asked _you_ , Spike," she hisses at me, using her good arm to wedge herself up the same way she'd takin' to doin' last night. The movement brings those hazy green eyes level with mine. I watch as she opens her mouth to say somethin' else, pauses, seems to think better of it, then sighs. Like somebody's just put out the fire. When she speaks again, her voice is all but flat. "And why do you even care?" Tired. Not a single, blessed trace of the ire from moments ago. Like she'd rather be doin' just about anythin' other than dealing with the likes of me. Like I'm so fuckin' beneath her?

And fuck all, it bothers me—the fact that it bloody _bothers_ me.

"You're right, Slayer. I don't care," I tell her nastily, leanin' toward her. I narrow my eyes again, droppin' my voice down to a growl. "Why don't you do us all a bloody favor and let that fever burn up all that delightful bitchiness of yours."

Her eyes blaze, cheeks reddenin' for the second time in the last three minutes. This close, I can smell the heat of the fever comin' off her skin, pulsin' in her blood. Almost feel the steady thrum of her heart beat, sparkin' over my own skin. My mouth starts to water, fangs itchin' all over again.

I let myself picture it. Not for long, just for a second. For one bleeding second, I picture what it'd be like to sink my fangs into that slender neck of hers. Or the curve of her shoulder. Little lower, over her collarbone, where that nasty slice from the plat glass is. Where I've tasted her once before. Or maybe just below that. Listen to her gasp in that fuckin' glorious pleasured kind of pain when I pierce the smooth skin at the top of her breast, run my tongue down over one perfect—

 _Fuck_.

I snap backward, leanin' away from her so quickly the bloody chair creaks beneath me. I've been starin' at her again, but not at her lips this time. Oh, bloody hell, did she notice?

No. No, she's not even lookin' at me now. Got her eyes down, fixed on somethin' in the rug beneath us. I shake my head to clear it.

"You know what?" she asks me hotly, only now botherin' to look back up at me. Cheeks still flushed, skin still hot. I can't smell her quite so strongly form here, though, so thank the bloody buggerin' fuck for that.

"What?" I ask back, feelin' a little like I must've missed somethin'. Jesus. Talkin' to the girl was supposed to be a distraction from all this. Day dreaming about killing the fuckin' Slayer is one thing. Fantasies that involve breakin' her body, using her up, bleeding her dry…all fine and right fuckin' dandy. But I draw the bloody line at causin' her anythin' other than pain.

Not that drawin' a line's ever stopped me before. No, I know _this_ Slayer, this little slip of a blonde, has featured in more than one shameful fantasy. 'Course, that doesn't mean much of anythin', right? Those fantasies, they always end the same bloody way. Literally.

 _Well,_ I think suddenly, frownin' deeper, _almost always._

"Never mind," the Slayer says suddenly, jarrin' me out of my thoughts and back to earth. I blink at her. What was it she'd said before? "Let's just go back to the whole no talky thing."

I stare at her, quirkin' a brow. "The _no talky_ thing?" Somebody get this girl a guide on proper sentence structure. Much longer with her, swear my ears are gonna start bleedin'.

"Yeah," she says, rollin' her eyes and turning over onto her back again. I watch her shiver, pull the blankets up tighter around her shoulders. "You know, where we don't talk."

My frown deepens as I look at her, watch her eyes close once more. Now she's gonna clam up _again_ , go back to ignorin' me _again_ , and I'll be stuck here twiddlin' my thumbs and thinkin' all sorts of unnatural, disgustin' thoughts. Again.

Brilliant.

I sigh, droppin' the sneer off my face in the pure and very selfish interest of keepin' my bloody sanity in tact while I'm stuck good and well stuck here with her. _Let's try this one more time, mate_. "Look, I was just tryin' to—"

But no, the Slayer isn't havin' it. 'Course not.

"I don't care what you were _trying_ to do, Spike," she says dismissively, cuttin' me off. I watch as she lifts her head up off the pillow and drops it hard back down, eyes shut tight. Settlin' in all nice and snug to set to pretendin' I'm not here.

And makin' it real easy for me to forget all these more recent, wankerish fantasies of mine and focus on the more violent, blood soaked ones from when we _first_ met.

 _Bugger this_.

I feel my expression darken, eyes goin' all narrow and teeth clenchin' together as the muscle in my jaw strains. "You are a right piece of work, you know that?" I ask her, my voice hard, every hold I'd had on me temper a minute ago slippin' right through my sodding fingers. "Got that sickness boilin' up your insides and look at you. Still as stubborn and ungrateful as ever."

This has her eyes flyin' open again, twisting her head 'round to look at me. But it's not the usual wishing-for-a-stake glare I see on her face now. No, this look here…this is somethin' else. Somethin' I don't think she's meant for me to see.

We stare at each other a moment, her eyes meetin' mine and holdin' contact for the first time since she'd woken up this morning.

"I'm not ungrateful," she insists simply, her voice a bit small soundin'. Different than a moment ago. Wrong, but I can't wrap my lobes around _why_. Then I get it figured, what it is that sounds so off, my eyes widening just a touch in surprise. God, her voice sounds so bloody _different_ when there's suddenly no venom in it.

It's almost enough for me to back off the chit for a bit. Almost.

Not about to be takin' in by a soft little voice and pouty lower lip, am I?

I chuckle darkly instead, shaking my head and lookin' away from her. Across the room, gluin' my eyes to the Watcher's bookcase and the big ol' bottle of what I'm hopin' to hell and back is whiskey. "You just keep tellin' yourself that, luv."

It gets real quiet after this. I don't bother to look back at the Slayer, even though I'm dyin' to see the look on her face now. Wonderin' if a blessed word I've said has gotten through that impossibly thick skull of hers. But she's not talkin', and I'll be damned all over again if the stubborn girl breaks this little stalemate all on her own. And she's got another sodding think comin' if she thinks _I'm_ gonna be the one to break the silence one more time. So I don't look at her, don't know if her eyes are open or closed. If she's gone back to pretendin' to be catching some shut eye or not.

Then, quietly. Out of absolutely fuckin' _nowhere_.

Her voice, real soft-like, like maybe she's halfway hopin' I won't hear her at all. "I never thanked you."

My head whips back toward her so fast I don't have a prayer in hell of stoppin' it. I'm imaginin' things. Gotta be. 'Cause there's just no sodding way I just heard the Slayer, _this_ Slayer, say what I think she just said.

I stare at her, wantin' to see if I can read the expression on her face. But her eyes are down again, fixated on a spot on her blanket that's somewhere over her lap. Sittin' stone still except for the shiverin'.

Well, I'll be bloody damned.

All over again.

And fuck all, if the bint hasn't rendered me speechless. I have no buggering clue what to say next, how to deal with…this. After railin' in my head for twenty-four hours straight about how the ungrateful little bitch never even bothered to thank me, now she has.

In a way.

I frown. Been a long time since I've dealt with anythin' even remotely resembling gratitude from anyone other than Dru, so I guess it's no real surprise I don't know what to do with it now.

"No," I agree with a snort, shakin' my head. "You bloody well didn't."

Though I'm thinkin' I could probably have handled it a mite better than _that._

The Slayer shoots a glare my way, strands of tangled hair fallin' in front of her face as she does. "God, will you stop for two seconds?" she asks me huffily, lifting a shaking hand out from below the blankets to frantically tuck the loose hair behind her ear. "I'm trying to…" she trails off, lookin' like she's strugglin' for the right words. I watch her look down, sighin'. "I'm not the only stubborn one here, you know."

My lips twitch up into a smirk as I look back at her. Bugger it. She's got me there, too.

I watch her suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly out, pink lips formin' a little pouty "O" as she does. Then her eyes find mine again, still foggy from the fever but gleaming a little in whatever light's makin' it in past the drapes, and she mutters a low "Thanks."

* * *

 _Thanks_.

The word feels so wiggy on my tongue. I mean, it doesn't normally feel this hard to say. I'm usually pretty great when it comes to the whole please and thank you thing. But this…God, this is Spike. So the normally way casual word feels thick and weird and…slippery. Not that I don't mean it because hey, totally do. I'd spent a long time thinking about it last night. And yeah, while I'll probably be all about blaming this little exchange on the fever if anyone ever asks me about it…it's kinda worth it just to see that stupid smug smirk vanish off the vampire's face when he hears it.

So worth it, in fact, that I find myself talking again before he can say anything else. "For the whole...rescuing me thing." I clear my throat, looking away from the way too blue of his eyes. Cause they are. Like, _way_ too blue. "With the commandos and being all with the not letting me crack my head open. I…" I trail off, taking a second to tuck the blanket in around my lap again. "Thanks."

There's a pause, and I fight the urge to close my eyes, waiting for Spike to throw the delayed thank you back in my face. Toss the words back to me on some quick-witted comment, a snarky put down.

He doesn't.

Instead, he just exhales and murmurs a low "Don't mention it."

And even though I'm still completely confused by why he hasn't been all King of the Snark about this, I push that thought aside to deal with the more pressing response he has given me. _Don't mention it._ Okay, even he has to see the irony of _that_ little statement.

"Sure, now you don't want me to mention it," I say, rolling my eyes over to look back at the bleached vampire. I freeze. I don't know what I'd been expecting to find, what expression I'd expected him to be wearing, but it isn't this. Hadn't been for him to be looking at me like he is now. Smirking again, but a little wider, and not as bitter as before. It could almost be considered a smile. A real one. Not a cruel, twisty one.

I give him a small, almost-a-real-smile back.

And now things are awkward. Like, really awkward. And quiet. My God, I think I've actually rendered the vamp speechless. Who'da thought all I'd ever needed to do to get Spike to stop talking was give him exactly what he'd been asking for? Kind of a handy little trick.

It had bothered me when he'd called me ungrateful. I mean, sure, he'd called me that more than a few times over the last little bit we've spent together, but it hadn't bugged all those times the way it had when he'd said it again a few minutes ago. Spike's always had this uncanny-ish way of knowing _exactly_ where to hit me where it hurts. Well-timed insults, gravelly little jibes half under his breath. Everything some kind of wiggy innuendo, designed to dig their way under my skin and lay snarky little eggs. Like the stuff he'd said to me about Parker that day we'd fought outside. About Parker, and about Angel. His words had been harsh and twisted and had hit me like a sucker punch in the gut. But they'd still just sorta been that— _words_. Usually I can dismiss the insults for what they are.

But when he'd called me ungrateful a moment ago, the _way_ he'd said it…it hadn't felt like an insult. Not like it was designed to hurt me, but more like it was just…there. A fact. Something he _knew_ to be true about me.

Something I feel like isn't true about me at all.

So yeah, okay, he'd gotten to me. Just not the way he normally does. And I think when I'd first said the words, first started to thank him, it had been just to prove him wrong. Prove a point.

Shut him up.

But the moment passing between us feels like it's a little more than that now. More than my majorly grudging acceptance of what he's done for me, and more than his equally grudging acceptance of my day-too-late thank you for it. It's kind of freaky.

And then, like he's read my mind, he opens his mouth and asks the one question that could make this whole thing just _that_ much freakier.

"How you feelin', Slayer?" His eyes are still focused on mine. "Any better at all?"

I stare at him, blinking, waiting for the second half of the question. The familiar sting of whatever jab's coming next. But he just looks at me, head cocked to the side and waiting for an answer.

"Uh, yeah," I say quickly, realizing I've waited just a little too long to respond to him. Not even thinking about whether or not it's the truth. "Better."

I'm pretty thrown right now. A little surprised and a little wigged by the look on his face, by the way his voice sounds when he isn't being his usual, mocking, piggish self.

"You don't look it," Spike says, gleaming eyes scanning my face before he frowns.

 _Or maybe I spoke too soon_.

I make a face at him. Not a glare, but maybe a glare's younger and less nasty looking cousin.

"What?" The vampire asks now, frowning deeper. Like he's actually wondering what it is he's done or said this time. Which, I guess he could be. I don't know.

I can't read his mind the way he always seems to be able to read mine.

"I mean, no, I won't be slaying much of anything today," I explain, rolling my eyes up to the ceiling before bringing them back down to his face. I grimace, wrinkling my nose up. "But I'm not passing-out-on-the-doorstep sick today, either. So, ya know." I shrug as much as I can while still keeping the blanket around me. "Better."

This makes the vampire chuckle appreciatively, tilting his head to the side. "So you admit to the swoonin' bit, then?" He raises both eyebrows, grinning a little wolfishly at me.

He has dimples. Spike. Has dimples.

 _This is too weird_.

"I said pass out," I clarify, leaning back into the cushions of the couch and fighting off a fresh wave of shivers. "Not _swoon_." I shift into the pillows, frowning at the way my clothes seem to stick to my back in the ishiest of ways. God, I'd give just about anything for a hot shower right now. Or a bath. Mom used to always make the best bubble baths for me when I was a kid and had to stay home from school.

"Same bloody difference, luv," Spike says in response to my earlier distinction, and I find myself automatically opening my mouth to tell him for about the bajillionth time _not_ to call me that, when my eyes land on his face again.

Still smirking, his scarred eyebrow raised high. But the expression on his is more honest-to-God amused than the malicious one I'm so used to seeing. And it's only now that I realize what's been happening. This, this brief little moment in time, is a cease-fire, however awkward or halting it might feel. A verbal truce to go along with our physical one. I'm sick, Spike's neutered, neither of us is exactly at the top of our game…and we're both stuck here. At least for now.

So I stop short, trapping the words on my tongue. This weird little half-truce of ours might have me wigging to the amount of ten, but even I can admit it's better than lying here in silence and pretending to be asleep.

That's one thing that hasn't changed an inch. Being sick is still pretty huge with the being bored to tears.

"So," I begin, a little hesitant. Not entirely sure what the best way to go about…doing this is. "Does that spell or whatever hurt, like, all the time?" I turn slightly onto my side so I can look at him without pinching all the nerves in my neck. "Or just...you know, when–"

"I try and rip people's throats out?" He supplies for me, both eyebrows shooting sky high. I think… _think_ …it's supposed to be a joke, so I bite down on my automatic response and just wait for the answer.

Spike nods, looking away from me. "So far 's only then," he explains, sighing and giving a little shake of his head. "Honestly don't feel much different, other than the gurglies in my tummy." I watch his face as he frowns, his brow furrowing as he casts a longing glance over toward the front door. "And I'd kill for a bloody smoke."

He glances back at me and sees the wide eyed, raised eyebrow look I'm giving him. He frowns a little deeper, a crease forming between his eyebrows. A beat. Then, "Probably a poor choice of words."

I laugh.

I can't help it. I'm not even sure this one's _supposed_ to be a joke, but I laugh anyway, stopping abruptly when the frown lines near his mouth smooth over and ghost up into a knowing little half-smirk. I cough, clearing my throat and shake my head. "I don't think Giles would be all with the happy about you having those cancer sticks in here, anyway," I explain, a little surprised when I suddenly shiver violently again. I'd kind of almost forgotten, just for a second, about the chills.

"Figures," Spike grumbles. Then, a little lower. "Poncy sod."

Yeesh. What does that even _mean_?

"Hey," I say, frowning at him, narrowing my eyes. "That _poncy sod_ is out getting you breakfast, buddy."

I watch him as he rolls his eyes up to the ceiling, the muscle in his jaw ticking, and wonder if now's too soon for me to get up and grab myself another glass of water.

I really am thirsty, which I know means I'm dehydrated, and if what Spike's said about Slayer healing doing pretty much jack in the way of helping me kick this fever as long as I _have_ the fever, then I really do need to drink more. And now that we've got this little…whatever it is going, it's a little—just a little—easier for me to admit that.

But still, I'm not all with the happy myself about getting an earful of "I told you so" from the bleached vamp.

Not that I need to worry, because apparently the amp in question is still fixated on what I've said about Giles being the bringer of breakfast.

"Don't remind me," he mutters under his breath.

I let out a long sigh and shake my head, gingerly pushing myself up into a sitting position. It's way more difficult than it should be. "If it bothers you so much to have to rely on us for help, we could just let you go," I tell him, taking a short break from my sitting up as a fresh round of chills tumble down my back. I look over at the vampire beside me, widening my eyes. "Let you take your chances out there."

It's an empty threat. The emptiest of empty. And he knows it.

"Right," he says breezily, the word leaving his lips on the heel of a low chuckle. "The same way I left you to take your chances back at that dorm of yours?"

I glare at Spike, looking at him sideways, through my lashes. "I already said thank you for that," I remind him. What good is thanking the damn vamp if he's going to turn around and forget about it ten minutes later?

I toss the blanket off my shaky, goose bumpy legs and swing them over the edge of couch.

"Know you did, Slayer," Spike's saying, not paying a lot of attention to me. "But— what the bloody hell d'you think you're doin'?"

Or paying more attention to me than I thought.

I look up at him and his eyes are flashing, a deep crease between his dark eyebrows. I sigh, putting my feet flat on the floor. "I'm going to the kitchen to get more water."

"No," the vampire says immediately, his voice suddenly hard again. "You're not."

I blink at him.

My God, I can't keep any of this straight. First we're arguing because he thinks I _should_ be drinking more water. Now we're arguing because he _doesn't_ want me to get up and get more water? And why I'm arguing with a Master vampire who, up until a day or so ago, had been very much of the hell bent on being the cause of my inevitable demise…I have no idea.

If I'm around him too much longer I'm gonna get whiplash.

"Weren't you the one saying I _should_ drink more?" I ask him pointedly, testing out my weight on my feet, cautiously pressing them fully down into the rug beneath me. I barely put any weight on them at all, and my knees automatically begin to shake, legs prickling all over again.

"No," Spike says angrily, drawing the word out. Again, kind of like he's talking to a little kid and not to a fully grown Slayer. "I mean, you're not gettin' _anythin'_." A pause, like he's thinking something over. Then, "Untie me, I'll get it for you."

Wait, _what_?

My eyes whip back up to his face, widening in a mix of shock and plain, old-fashioned confusion. I blink dumbly at him, one eyebrow raising skeptically. "You lost me at untie you," I say flatly.

" _Christ_ , Slayer," the vampire growls, glowering at me from his position in the wood chair. "You really think you can get over to the kitchen all on your lonesome?"

"I'll be fine," I tell him, not actually sure it's true but also not sure what's got him so bent over this. I test out my weight again, trying to ignore the goose bumps pebbling up my arms now, too.

Spike tilts his head toward me, eyes dropping to my shaking legs, the place where my hands are death gripping the edge of the couch cushion. " _You_ can barely sit up."

I frown at him, brow furrowing and trying really hard to make sense out of what he's saying to me. Why does it matter to him _now_ whether or not I can get back to the kitchen? Then it dawns on me, and I have to roll my eyes. I feel like I do that a lot with Spike.

So this is still all about protecting his little investment? Seems like that's on the other side of necessary at this point. I think he's pretty well established to Giles that I wouldn't be here without him. If I get hurt now, _anything_ that happens to me now that isn't, you know, blood sucker related...there's no way it'll get pinned on him.

 _Then again._ I frown deeper, thinking about that a little further. I guess I kind of see why he might think that. So I guess I can kind of see why he might be a _little_ concerned about getting blamed for whatever damage I manage to do to myself.

It's either that or he just really, really, _really_ wants to be untied.

I shake my head, pushing that thought aside and pushing myself a little further to the edge of the couch. "You got me here, okay," I say emphatically, turning my head to the side to try and relieve the twingey ache in my neck. "Like I told Giles, all alive and everything. He's already helping, with the blood getting and the whole…" I turn my eyes up to his forehead, waving a hand toward it dismissively. "Migraine thing." I look back at him, ignoring the menacing flash in the blue of his eyes. "Your part of the deal's pretty much done."

Spike growls at me. Actually _growls_. A deep, low rumble that has me leaning back into the couch and further away from him.

"I didn't go through all that bloody trouble gettin' you here _alive_ just so you could crack that pretty little head open on your Watcher's coffee table, did I?" He asks me heatedly, his voice dangerously low.

I freeze in place, staring at him. He freezes, too, staring back. Like maybe we're both a little surprised at how forceful he's being. Then he pauses, taking a deep, unnecessary breath, letting it out through tightly pursed lips. I watch him, a little mesmerized by the rise and fall of his chest. Which, ya know, is probably the fever.

Probably.

"Look," Spike begins again, slower now. His voice less strained. "You know I can't hurt you, yeah? And I'm not about to fuckin' run away." He tilts his head to the side, indicating the tightly draped over window slightly behind him and a little to his left. "Can't rightly go anywhere anyway, can I? Daylight and all."

My fingers twitch and tingle where I've wrapped them so tightly around the edge of the couch that I think I'm actually cutting off my circulation in an effort to stay sitting up right. My head is pounding, and the fever has my vision a little blurry around the edges, my mouth dry and cottony. Coupled with the constant shakiness of my legs and the shivers moving down my back, I know he has a point. Several points. Several fairly pointy points, both about himself _and_ about me.

Which normally would make me shoot my fist out, right into the bridge of his nose. Now, it just makes me feel kinda tired.

I make a face at him, grimacing, lips pursing tightly together as the word fights to the tip of my tongue.

"Fine," I agree finally, slowly, watching as Spike's eyes do this weird lighting up thingy that makes my stomach roll in a very different way than the nausea had been making it roll earlier. He starts to shift toward me, using his legs to maneuver his chair around toward me to give me access to the place the ropes are tied behind his back. I reach toward the knots with trembling hands, pulling one loose and actively kicking myself for making what I'm pretty sure is a fever-driven decision that I'll end up paying for in one way or another. I pause with my hands on the last knot, leaning forward so I can see the profile of Spike's face and drop my voice down as menacing as I can make it. "But if you try anything, _anything_ , I swear to God…" The last knot comes loose, and the ropes fall limply down and into Spike's lap. "I _will_ stake you."

The threat comes a little late, but better late than never.

The vampire chuckles, leaning down to gather the discarded ropes up and lifting them over his head, pushing himself up to his feet. I watch as he stretches his arms up over his head then turns around to face me. He cocks his head to the side, lashes sweeping down over my legs then back up.

"What exactly are you afraid I'm gonna _try_ , pet?" he purrs, smirking down at me, curling his tongue up behind his top teeth.

My face gets hot.

* * *

There's that lovely little rush of blood again, floodin' her cheeks as I look down at her. Sod it, hadn't even been tryin' to make the girl blush this time. It's just...instinct maybe. Gut reaction. Think I'm mostly coverin' up for the surprise I'm feeling. Jesus, I can't believe she actually _listened_ to me. Yeah, I wanted the chit to untie me and all, but I didn't think she'd actually bloody _do_ it. Even if it is just for a drink of water.

Shit. She must really be feelin' bad.

Not that I don't bloody well know that. I'd seen it when I'd looked down at her legs. She's still shakin', the knuckles on her tiny hands turnin' all white from the effort to keep herself sittin' up right. I clear my throat, let the smirk fall off my face and nod down at her. "Right then," I say, kickin' the chair aside so I can step around it, movin' through the flat and into the kitchen. Grabbing the empty water glass the Watcher'd been usin' before and takin' it to the tap to re-fill it. Tryin' real sodding hard not to think too much about what I'm doin' as I'm doin' it, I walk back around and reach the glass out for the Slayer. She takes it from me, her fingers just barely grazin' mine as she does. They're so hot, and the scent of her skin has my nostrils flarin' as I watch her bring the glass to her lips and drink.

Bugger it, gotta find a way to stop _starin'_ at the bloody bint.

When she's finished, she reaches forward and sets the glass down on the coffee table, turnin' to tuck her feet, and the fuckin' ridiculous socks she's wearin', back under the blanket, leanin' back into the pillows.

"Um, thanks," she says quietly, wide, green eyes turned toward me. Her eyebrows pull together, lookin' like she feels as awkward saying it as I do hearin' it.

But she still says it, yeah? And I guess that's gotta count for somethin'. 'Sides that, the water seems to have helped. Her face already looks a touch less flushed than before, and I have to bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from askin' if she needs anythin' else. Bloody hell, didn't get the chit to untie me just so I could turn around and wait on her hand and sodding foot.

So I just nod and turn away from her quickly, shakin' my head to clear it and kicking at the wooden chair again. I cast a glance around the room, spot an old telly set off in the far corner and wonder if the Slayer'd be willin' to let a bloke watch Passions when it comes on. Not that it'd stop me if she said no, just…with us tryin' to be civil and all.

I turn back toward her to ask, and her eyes are closed. Her breathin' slow, chest doin' an even little rise and fall. Still not sleepin', I'd wager, but gettin' there. Reckon she didn't get much kip last night, herself. I look down at her, listening to the steady hum of her heart beat, halfway wonderin' what kind of buggering Slayer instincts the chit's got that let her fall asleep like this in the company of the likes of me.

Then I frown, thinkin' that little piece of information over in my noggin.

 _Not that it_ bloody _matters_.

Turnin' away from her, glancin' around the room, I sigh. Could really use a long drag right about now, but don't know if I'm feelin' up to riskin' my skin to do it durin' the most flammable time of the day. S'pose I could just light one up here and deal with the Watcher over it later. Wager he wouldn't do much about it, anyway. And it's like the Slayer said, yeah? Girl had a point about my part of this whole deal bein' pretty well and over with now. And bloody hell, s'not like the Watcher's gonna toss me out for seein' fit to look after his Slayer while he's out and about.

In point of fact, I think I'm owed a little somethin' or other for all the effort I've been puttin' in lately. More'n a little somethin', even. I cross over to the telly and flip the dial on, turnin' it over to the proper channel and keepin' the volume down low. Move across to the opposite side of the room, pluck the bottle that— _fuck yes_ , isn't whiskey after all, but the Watcher's good scotch— down off the shelf and bring it back with me to the chair. Shovin' the ropes aside, I drop down onto the wood, lettin' my legs sprawl out on either side of it and crackin' the seal on the bottle. I smirk down at the broken wax, shift my eyes sideways toward the sleepin' Slayer on the sofa, then back toward the telly's screen.

I lean back in the chair and tilt the bottle up to my lips, thinkin' that maybe, just this once, this plan of mine might not turn out to be so bad after all.


	5. Chapter 5

I'm dreaming. And I _know_ I'm dreaming, because I'm having one of those heavy, majorly wig causing prophetic dreams that I only ever have when something big is coming.

And this feels _huge_.

I don't know exactly where I am, don't recognize it, so I don't think it's anywhere I've ever been before. It's dark and cold and smells like…bleach, or maybe chlorine. Sterile. The walls are white, and so is the floor. I can hear the clicking of my boots as I walk across it, but everything feels like it's in slow motion. But I can't see what's coming. Not exactly. It's still…hazy, and way far away, down at the other end of the too-dark, sterile smelling hallway. All I can make out through the darkness are these blurry figures that look sort of vaguely human shaped. That, and the color blue.

There's blue everywhere.

And not just any blue, but that sparkling sort of swirly indigo-ish blue that I know without having to think a lot about it is a specific color I should immediately recognize, be able to place.

I suck in a deep breath and square my shoulders, the clicking on tile coming to a stop as the slow motion of my movements end.

And then I feel it.

A hand. Strong and smooth and cool as marble as it slides inside of mine, our fingers entwining together. Slowly, almost awkwardly. Like it's the most natural thing in the world and the very first time it's happened all at once. I turn my head to the side and see him standing there, and I'm not surprised. In the dream, this moment in the dream, I'm not surprised to see Spike standing in this hallway with me. Next to me.

Beside me.

Facing off with whatever…thing or things or people…whatever big, huge thing it is that's coming toward us through the shadows. He squeezes my hand once, nods, then turns to face forward and drops into a fighting stance. Like this is normal. Like fighting next to me and not…with me is just the nonnest of issues. Like we're…partners.

 _Friends_.

I wake up with a shuddering jerk, a strained gasp on my lips as I blink and stare, only half seeing, up at the ceiling and try to calm my breathing, the jagged pounding of my pulse. Try and clear the haze in my head so I can figure whatever the hell it was that I've just seen.

Oh, _God_.

A Slayer dream. About Spike. The bleached menace himself. Granted, sure, I've had Slayery dreams about him before now but they were never so…clear. And he was never so…helpful. I feel like I have even less of an idea about what this is supposed to mean than usual.

So that's just great.

"Whatsa matter, Slayer?" the bleached vamp in question drawls from beside me, making me jump and twist my head around toward him. He's pinning me with those too-blue eyes again, a twisty smirk on his lips. "You have a little nightmare?" Then he pauses, an eyebrow raised sardonically. "Or...daymare, I guess."

I blink at him, head still a little hazy with sleep. Or the fever. Or the dream. Take your pick, I guess, I'm hazed out all over the place. I keep staring at him, frowning as my eyes drift over his sprawled form. He's untied. Did I untie him? I can't remember. Everything that's happened in the last couple days is all foggy to me right now. And jeez, my face is on _fire_.

"Huh?" I ask numbly, my voice thin, shivering beneath the weight of the blanket on top of me. If I didn't know better, I might think it was heavier now than it had been before I'd fallen asleep. Or maybe I'm just weaker.

Spike rolls his eyes, turning his attention back forward and away from me again. "Can practically feel how fast your heart's racin'," he says dismissively, the wooden chair creaking beneath his weight as rolls his shoulders back. Then the blue shifts sideways. "Bad dream?"

I almost laugh out loud. _Bad dream_. Well, that's one word for it.

I swallow hard, shaking my head as if to clear it of the wonky images from my Slayer dream, reaching a shaking hand up to smooth my hair away from my forehead. My hair feels thick and matted, tangly, and again I wonder if I'd be strong enough to hold myself upright for a shower. I frown, glancing down at my hand as I pull it away. Even my fingers feel hot.

There's a low, distant sounding noise from somewhere over to my right and I turn my attention toward it. Giles's TV is on, the volume turned down pretty low, playing through some old TV show. It looks like the screen is flickering in black and white but I can't really see it from here.

"What are you watching?" I ask, my voice still a little weak sounding as I shift on the couch to get a better peak at the screen.

Subject changes. Subject changes from prophetic dreams to boring old television shows are definitely of the good.

Spike looks a little surprised by the question, like maybe he's not sure what to do with me asking him an honest question without a whole lot of venom thrown in. His eyes widen on me for a brief second before he looks back toward the TV. "Nothin' much now," he says, and I notice him shift slightly again in his seat. The same wooden chair he'd been in earlier. He uses the bottle in is hand to indicate toward the screen. "Was watchin' Passions, but—"

Wait, _what_?

"Passions?" I ask skeptically, staring at his profile through my heavy, fevered eyes. The light around him, filtering in through a crack in the curtains, is this weird sort of goldeny color. It almost makes him look like there's a halo around his head, the bright blonde of his hair lighting up, making the sharp planes of his cheeks look downright angelic from this angle.

Which, think about _that_ for a second.

I think I might be hallucinating.

"Yeah," he says tersely, still not looking at me. "What of it?"

I make a face at him. It's _weird_ , that's…what of it. It's weird that the vampire that up until two days ago was hell bent on my destruction is just…sitting next to me. It's _weird_ that he's just sitting next to me watching TV. It's _weird_ that he's untied. It's doubly weird that _I'm_ the one that untied him. And it's majorly, triply weird that I untied him because he'd offered to get me a glass of _water_.

Everything about this is weird.

Not that you'd know it looking at the vampire beside me, who looks about as comfy and casual as he can be. By the look of things he's already made himself totally at home.

Which I imagine won't sit overly well with Giles.

"My mom watches Passions," I say lamely, keeping a lid on all the other weirdness currently threatening to make my head explode. Or maybe that's just the headache. I don't know, it all feels the same at this point.

"Your mum's a right smart lady," Spike says quickly, eyes still riveted to whatever's on the screen. "'S a good show. Bloody brilliant."

"It's a soap opera," I tell him flatly, maybe a little more snippily than I mean to. I can't help it. My head is throbbing, everything feels sticky and hot, and frankly I'm mostly just trying to figure out the vampire sitting next to me than anything else.

"Oi!" He growls, throwing a narrow eyed glare my way. "I can hear that, you know. That little bit of bitch in your voice." He sniffs and rolls his shoulders back, tipping the bottle in his hand back toward his lips and taking a long swig before dropping it back down to his lap. "That any way to talk to your caregiver, Slayer?"

 _Caregiver?_

It was one glass of water, one time. I don't think that quite makes up for, oh say, the twelve million attempts he's made on my life. I frown at him again, glancing back and forth between his haloed head and the bottle in his hand, the just slightly slurred way he's talking. "Are you drunk?"

The vampire snorts, shaking his head and glancing my way. "I wish. Might make whatever bollocks _this_ is worth watchin'." He gestures toward the screen again for emphasis. Then he pauses, glancing down at the bottle in his lap before shifting it over and setting it down on the table, drumming his fingers against the denim of his jeans before glancing my way again. "How you feelin'?"

I blink at him. His voice sounds funny in my ears. Sort of…distant, like he's talking to me from really far away. "What?" I ask, half asking because I actually need him to repeat it and half because I'm feeling for some reason that there's no way I've heard him right.

"Your fever?" he asks pointedly, raising one scarred eyebrow high.

So I _had_ heard right.

Weird.

"Oh. It's f-fine," I manage lamely, my body suddenly convulsing violently under the blankets even as the word leaves my lips on a tremor.

The vampire scoffs, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling again. " _Tremendously_ convincing, Slayer," he drawls, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back, giving me a better view of the draped windows behind him.

All that goldeny halo light around Spike's head? It's the sunset. The sun's already going down.

 _How long have I been asleep?_

And it happens so fast I don't even have time to think it through. Don't have time to register where it comes from, whether it's logical or not. This wild, sort of irrational, heart thudding panic strikes me hard in the center of my chest and I force myself up into a half-sitting position, whipping my throbbing head around toward the front door.

Giles's coat is still gone.

"What time is it?" I ask Spike, whirling back around to face him.

He makes a face at me, eyebrow still raised high, then leans around to glance at the clock hung up on the wall. "Half past four."

I do the math in my head as best I can. Half past four. That'd be…what? 4:30, right?

"Where's Giles?" I ask, still working through the stilted math in my head. I don't know why I'm feeling so panicked but I can't seem to get the raging heat in my cheeks to go down, or the pounding of my pulse to slow.

"Not back, thank God," Spike answers brusquely, picking the bottle back up and taking another swig. "Not ready just yet to let that wanker tie me up again."

But I'm only half listening to the vampire now, too busy trying to reign in this gripping panic _. Not back yet._

4:30 in the afternoon and Giles left the house a little after noon. He'd only had two errands to run, right? He should have been back by now.

"Something's wrong," I say quietly, almost more to myself than anything. I shift up again on the couch as though I'm about to get up, attempting to lift the blanket, a little shocked by just how heavy it suddenly feels. My arms are so weak. "He should've been back by now."

I'm just about to throw the blanket off and put my legs over the side, but I'm stopped by Spike's hand. It's firm on my shoulder as he shoves me, harder than he needs to, back down into the couch cushions with a low snarl.

I blink up at him, stunned. "What are you doing?" I ask, feeling the cool of his hand even through two layers of fabric.

"Could ask you the same bloody question," he counters, pressing his hand a little more firmly into my shoulder before letting go abruptly, pulling it back to his lap.

"Giles needs my help," I tell him simply, like it should be obvious. Not sure why I seem to just know that's where this sudden, irrational panic is coming from. Also, not sure why I'm sitting here explaining my actions to him at _all_.

Spike chuckles. "No," he says, equally simply, like I'm the biggest idiot ever. "He doesn't. He's only been gone for a few hours."

I glare up at him, a little of the panic being replaced by a sharp surge of irritation. "I _know_ he needs help," I tell him angrily, even as I feel my body sinking back down into the couch, shivering again. "I-I can _feel_ it."

How else can I explain the wild, urgent sense of alarm still fluttering through my chest?

Spike just frowns down at me, shaking his head. "This is the fever talkin'. You know that right?"

This has me pausing, furrowing my brow. What's the fever talking?

When he sees the confused look on my face, he rolls his eyes. "Paranoia," he explains on a sigh, tilting his head to the side, his eyes narrowed as they scan over my flushed face. "'S a symptom."

I pause, sinking deeper into the couch cushions and eyeing the vampire skeptically. Paranoia. Yeah. I mean, I guess it… _could_ be. _Or_ Spike could just be making me think it is so I won't go out and help Giles. Maybe it's some big diabolical plan of the bleached vampire's or something.

And before I can stop myself, I'm opening my mouth to explain my diabolical plan theory to said vampire.

Spike's response is a short, harsh laugh.

"Do you ever do _anythin'_ other than fret over your hapless little Slayerettes?" He asks me, his voice hard, pushing himself back up to his feet and shaking his head. "He's a grown man, Slayer. Can bloody well handle himself." Then he pauses, making a face and glancing toward the front door. "Though, gotta say, hopin' he shows up sooner rather than later." He presses a hand to his stomach. "Stomach's startin' to work itself into knots, I'm so bloody starved."

Right. The vampire probably hasn't fed in days. I remember vaguely, him telling us that much. Part of the reason he'd been all with the complaining earlier today. Which reminds me…

I groan, letting my heavy eyelids flutter closed. "I can't believe I fell asleep with you just... _sitting_ there," I say, making a face at him, wondering if stupidity or lack of survival skills might also be symptoms of a high fever. Or, ya know, if dreaming about your mortal enemy and how insanely blue his eyes are might be one, too.

I open my eyes again in time to see Spike just shrug, not looking bothered. "You were knackered," he explains, then cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes thoughtfully, his voice turning a little bit bitter. "And you know I can't bite you."

True. All true.

 _Still._

"But you're still all... _you_ ," I say lamely, eyeing Spike cautiously. Even I'm not sure what exactly I mean by that. "And I'm still me." I shiver again, burrowing myself further down below the heavy blanket and frowning deeper, verging on a pout. "I'm pretty sure they can have my Slayer card revoked for that."

* * *

And I'm right fuckin' sure they could have my vamp card for the thoughts I'm thinkin' now, too.

I watch the Slayer shiverin' on the sofa and fight the urge to frown, the other, much more inconvenient urge to cover her up with another blanket. I'd placed the heavier one on her a little bit ago just to stop that God-forsaken teeth chatterin' of hers, I think. But I'm wonderin' now if it's just the fact that she looks so bloody small, so bleeding miserable.

 _Christ._ Ya know, this is all Dru's fault somehow. I'm sure of it.

"Easy fix," I say, angling my body away from hers so I don't have to bloody look at her and back toward the bottle of scotch on the table. I pick it up, bring it to my lips and murmur, "Don't bloody fall asleep again."

Not that I care one way or another. Things are a sight more entertaining when the Slayer's awake, is all. Bickerin' with her keeps me distracted, good and proper. Least ways 'til the Watcher comes back with my blood and I can bloody well do somethin' about the rumbles in my stomach.

And wouldn't you know it. _Speak of the poncey little devil…_

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" The old man barks at me, steppin' inside and using his foot to slam the front door of the flat closed. His arms are full, weighted down with two big brown bags. Jesus, I can smell the blood from here.

My stomach growls again.

I watch through narrowed eyes as he storms inside and dumps the bags down on the bench before whirling on me, his eyes blazing. The noise makes the Slayer jump, her face crumplin' in on a wince. Her head must be hurting somethin' fierce.

"Christ," I say, shaking my head at the Watcher, just short of letting loose a dark chuckle. "Calm down, mate."

The Watcher's eyes flash again. "I'm not your _mate_ , Spike."

I cock my head to the side, raisin' both brows and liftin' the bottle up in front of me. Watchin' as his eyes land on the bottle, the amber liquid sloching 'round the bottom. Eggin' him on, I know, but I've always had a nasty habit of doin' that. And not bloody caring. "You share the good stuff with just anyone, then?"

God, isn't that delicious. Wonder how hard it'd be to make that vein in his forehead pop?

"You drank my scotch?" He asks me heatedly, his voice low and what I'm guessin' is meant to be menacing or some rot.

I just smirk at him, capping the bottle and tossin' it to him, watching him scramble to catch it against his chest. "Not all of it."

I watch as he holds the bottle up to the light, no doubt seein' that more'n half of it's gone. He glances back toward me, then makes like he's 'bout to lunge. "Why you…"

"Giles!" The Slayer shouts suddenly, stoppin' him dead in his tracks. And bugger all, it surprises me. Mostly 'cause I don't think any of us know whether she's stoppin' him just to stop him, stoppin' him so she can talk to him, or stoppin' him from comin' at me.

I think we're both starin' at her now. She innit lookin' at me, though. Her glazed eyes are turned toward her Watcher.

"Buffy," Giles begins slowly, " _why_ is Spike wandering freely around my flat?" He lifts the scotch up into the air for her to see. "And how has he managed to drink _more than_ _half_ my good bottle of scotch?"

I smirk at him. Can't bloody help it.

"Because…he's untied?" she offers weakly, burrowin' deeper beneath the blanket I'd placed over her earlier.

"Right," the old man says, still speakin' real slow-like, obviously growin' short on patience. "And _why_ is he untied, exactly?"

The Slayer blinks at him. Then, "Because I untied him."

"Good Lord," Giles slams the bottle down on the table and plants both hands on his hips. "Yes, I see that. But _why_?"

I watch the Slayer toss a quick glance my way before focusing on her Watcher again. She clears her throat, wincin' a little with the effort before she offers a small soundin' "I didn't know about the scotch?"

"Buffy—" Giles begins, and I sigh, thinkin' it's about time to put an end to all this. Can't the wanker see how sick the chit is?

"Bloody hell," I groan, rollin' my eyes up and shakin' my head. "Slayer just needed a little help, alright?"

Giles turns flashing eyes on me, takin' a purposeful step in my direction. "And you were just so willing to provide her with such help?" he asks harshly, skeptically.

I square my shoulders and tip my head back, narrowin' my eyes. Like it's so fuckin' hard to believe?

Well, alright, it is. But the sod is rubbin' me the wrong bloody way right now.

"Look, protectin' my investment, yeah?" I tip my head in the Slayer's direction, watchin' out of the corner of my eye as she starts shakin' and shiverin' all over again. "Just tryin' to keep her from breakin' her neck, is all."

Giles looks at me as my words seem to sink in. He's still lookin' like he's still willin' to argue with me, and more than a little like he'd love to tie me back down to that fuckin' chair, but he doesn't make a move to do either.

A long moment passes.

"I'm not exactly steady-on-my-feet girl right now," The Slayer says softly, like she's still tryin' to explain herself to Giles. Her voice is small, and it draws my attention back to her. Bloody hell, she looks so frail. Tiny. Weak. Jesus, all the year's I've known the damn chit, weak's never been a word I'da used to describe her.

It bothers me. And a sodding lot more than it should, I think.

"And what other kinds of havoc have you managed to wreak while I've been away?" The Watcher asks coolly, turnin' away from his Slayer and focusin' back on me.

I glare at him. "Fixed that bleeding telly of yours." I pause, raisin' an eyebrow and gesturin' toward the machine in question. "You're welcome."

I watch as he whips his head toward the screen, a deep frown etched on his priggish face.

"What?" he asks.

I sigh, foldin' my arms over my chest. "Antenna needed fixin', so I adjusted it. 'S the only way I could watch my show." When he looks back at me, the old man can't keep the bloody wide-eyed look of surprise off his face. Typical. "Told you I didn't need a sodding babysitter."

Giles steps toward me, lowerin' his voice and pickin the scotch back up, holdin' the liquor bottle out to me. "As evidenced by the 25 year old bottle of Bowmore you've managed to effectively _ruin_."

I shake my head, expertly skirtin' around him and movin' toward the bench and the luscious scent of blood waftin' my way from one of the brown bags. "Shouldn'a left it out if you didn't want a fella to partake, Rupert."

I turn my back on the both of them, riflin' through the bag until I find two massive white containers and pull them out, only half listenin' to the quiet conversation goin' on behind me.

"That was an unnecessary risk, Buffy."

I roll my eyes.

"I needed water, Giles. And I can't exactly get it on my own…"

"We still don't know just how…impotent this commando spell has made him." I grit my teeth, jaw clenchin' hard. _Impotent?_ Impotent my bloody _arse_. "What if he'd tried to hurt you?"

"He didn't." My ears perk. 'S it just me, or does the Slayer sound a touch like she's…defendin' me? A pause. "He _can't_."

"Yes, well, I suppose that's more than evident _now_. Still—"

"Giles, please." She sounds so tired. "Can we just lecture me later?"

"You're right. I'm sorry. Are you feeling any better at all?"

I cast a glance in the Slayer's direction now as I move around the bench and into the tiny galley kitchen, openin' up cupboards and lookin' for a mug.

"A little, I think," she says, clear in' her throat. And fuck, even I know it's a lie. "Until you...with the yelling and the headache." I glance over my shoulder toward the girl as she tries again, unsuccessfully, to sit up. "Or maybe not." She wrinkles her nose and collapses back into the cushions with a poof. "Ow."

Gotta give the little bint credit for tryin', I guess.

I turn back to the Watcher's microwave, watching the timer tick down and focusin' entirely on that instead of the Slayer's voice as she attempts to explain what's been goin' on 'round here to Giles.

"You're still much too warm," the Watcher says after a moment. There's a rustlin' sound from behind me just as the timer beeps, and I pull the mug out and slam the microwave door closed.

"Here. Try this." Another pause. "Hopefully something a little stronger might help to cut the fever. And Spike—" I turn back toward him, cuttin' him off mid-sentence as I round the corner of the kitchen and head back into the living room, steamin' mug in hand. "Right." He raises a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Just...help yourself."

As if at this point I'dve done anythin' else. I smirk at him, raisin' the mug in false salute. "Don't mind if I do," I mutter, liftin' the steaming mug to my lips and taking a huge swig, closin' my eyes as the hot liquid fills my mouth and trails a blazing path down my throat.

* * *

I watch from my spot on the couch, just a little on this side of disgusted, as Spike swallows a large mouthful of blood before promptly making a gagging sound and staring down into the crimson liquid like it's just said something majorly offensive.

"Oh, _God_ ," he breathes, reaching his free hand up to wipe it savagely across his red-stained lips before glaring up at Giles. "Is this pig's blood?"

"Quite the discerning palate," My Watcher mumbles derisively, then takes my fresh water glass away and sets it down on the table before turning toward the vampire. "Yes, it's pig's blood. I did say I was going to the butcher shop, didn't I?"

"Christ," Spike snarls, looking back down into the mug and shaking his head, shuddering slightly. "Thought that was a bloody joke."

Giles grumbles something low and distinctly British under his breath as he maneuvers around the frustrated vamp and disappears with a huff down the hallway that leads to the bathroom.

I watch him go before I sigh, shivering again and lying back, fixing the frowning vampire with a raised eyebrow look of my own. "Is it that bad?" I ask, not really needing to. I can see how "bad" Spike thinks it is just by watching him attempt to take another tentative sip.

"Bad?" He counters, shuddering against the taste even as he forces himself to choke down another long sip. "'S downright disgustin', 's what it is."

I make a face at him, wrinkling my nose up and trying my hardest not to look at the vampire through new, rosy, fever-induced-Slayer-dream eyes.. "Because you thought we were going to steal _actual_ human blood that _actual_ humans might _actually_ need…" I pause for effect, which is just a little bit ruined by a fresh round of shivers, before continuing on. "Just to feed you."

Spike looks up at me, frowning deeply. "Well, _yeah_."

I stare at him, shaking my head and pulling the blanket more tightly around my shoulders. "You're unbelievable."

The frown vanishes instantly, replaced with a curving smirk, the hint of a curling tongue as he tilts his head slowly to the side and eyes me through his lashes. He takes a step toward me and when he speaks, his voice is low and smooth. "Flattery will get you everywhere, pet."

If possible, my cheeks heat up even more. God, I'll never understand how he can do that. Turn on a dime, a flick of his tongue, the tilt of his head and make me feel so insanely… _exposed_. Even through layers of sweatshirt and blanket. I'm feeling incredibly flushed, and more than a little confused, a tiny bit agitated that I can't help but see something just the eensiest bit…different when I look at the bleached blonde now, and cover it all up with an icy glare. "Pig's blood fits you if you ask me."

Spike just smirks wider at me, turning his attention back to his mug o' blood. "I didn't."

I tilt my own head to the side against the pillow, letting a wide, falsely sweet smile spread across my face. "Now you know what all that unsolicited commentary feels like."

And I blanch as he glances up from his blood and smiles at me. Not smirks, not a wry little snarky half-grin, but a _smile_. The same kind he'd given me earlier today after Id thanked him for his less than enthusiastic rescue mission, just before I'd fallen asleep.

I can feel the wiggins again, doing their little creepy crawlies down my back as the saccharine smile fades from my lips at almost the exact same moment the freaky too-sincere smile fades from his, like we've both sort of realized the wonkiness of whatever it is that's happening between us at the exact same moment. I look up at him, blinking dumbly as he moves closer to me.

And just like that, the moment, whatever moment we'd _been_ having, vanishes. I can breathe again.

"You really aren't lookin' too hot, Slayer," he tells me now, lifting his mug to take another sip of the crimson fluid, eyeing my over the rim of it as he does.

"Funny," I grumble, feeling more than a little awkward with the way he's staring at me now and wishing real hard that Giles would come back out from the bathroom. "I _feel_ plenty hot."

Something quick, lighting fast, flashes in vampire's eyes as he stares at me, but he doesn't say anything right away. Instead Spike nods, swallowing his last, long sip and setting the mug down on the coffee table. He narrows his eyes at me. "Think that's the problem."

I try to keep eye contact with him. I really, _really_ do. But his eyes…all with the too blue and the piercing and the memories from seeing him in my dream, the cool, marble-y weight of his hand as it had curled around mine, all have me blinking manically and glancing away in a hurry.

"Yeah, well," I mumble, letting out a long, trying-hard-for-irritated sigh. "Thanks for the—" And I jump, stopping mid-sentence and whipping wide eyes back up at Spike and the arm he now has outstretched toward me. And I gasp, completely involuntarily, 100% out of my control as he presses the backs of his fingers against my forehead. They're like ice, firm and cool and I just blink at him dumbly. "What the _hell_ are you doing?" I ask dazedly, more than halfway thinking I might be making this entire thing up. The little pills that Giles gave me are starting to kick in, I think, and I'm feeling a little…gooey. My muscles still shivering, but starting to relax, loosening as I sink deeper into the couch and my eyelids get heavier. Each time I blink it takes a little extra effort to open my eyes again.

"Coppin' a feel," he says sarcastically, pressing his fingers more firmly to my flushed skin. And I don't want to admit, really, _really_ don't, but it feels good. "Jesus, Slayer, what's it look like I'm doin'?" He shakes his head. "Checkin' your temperature, ain't I?"

Okay, no. Really. _What_?

For about the millionth and a half time in the last 48 hours, I'm speechless. I literally have _no_ idea what to say.

So I settle for saying the first thing that comes to mind.

"Your hands are freezing," I mumble tersely, pinning him with one last, hard look even as I feel my lashes flutter closed.

I hear the faint, rumbly sound of what I'm pretty sure is a chuckle, and then there's a really long pause. Finally, the vampire sighs. "Prob'ly 'cause you're runnin' close to 106 degrees," he says pointedly, pulling his chilly fingers away from my forehead. I force my eyes back open, biting down hard on the little whimper of protest that fights to get free. His skin might feel all with the incredible against my head right now, but there's no way, not even in my fever addled Buffy brain, I'm going to let _him_ know that.

I might have had that wiggy dream, but this is still Spike. And you know, sometimes those dreams don't exactly turn out the way they're supposed to, anyway. Rarely, in fact.

 _God._

"How do you know how high it is?" I ask, suddenly really, super, hyper aware of how close the vampire is to me. And how the smell of cigarettes and liquor and leather permeates the air all around him, between us, even though I'm pretty sure he hasn't smoked at all today. Just how good his marble-like skin had felt against mine.

And how I really want to reach up and pull him down to me, press my over-heated cheek flush against his…

Except, no. I don't want that. Don't. Do _not_.

I sink back into the couch, putting as much distance between me and the bleached vampire as possible.

"Can feel it," Spike answers my question breezily, like it should be obvious. He steps back a little ways from me, then shrugs. "And I can smell it."

Oh, _ew_.

I wrinkle my nose up at the thought, wondering just what exactly a Slayer fever smells like. Wondering super briefly if I want to ask or not. Deciding against it. Then, realizing what all else he's just said and feeling the pit of my stomach drop out. If he's right…

"106 degrees?" I frown, thinking it over, my voice very small. "Isn't that like…way high."

Spike folds his arms over his chest and nods down at me, a slow smirk ghosting the edge of his lips again. "Higher than your average, run-of-the-mill flu bug, I'd wager."

And he's got that look on his face. That smug, Spike-like, _I-know-something-you-don't-know_ look. I kind of want to smack it off.

Not that I can.

So I narrow my heavy eyes instead. "What's your point?"

"Just sayin'—"

"Why don't you try and get a little more rest, Buffy?" Giles asks suddenly, stepping into the room and cutting the blonde vampire off mid-sentence, drawing both of our eyes over to him. I give my Watcher a quizzical look and he just nods. "I think it's the best thing for you now, give that medicine a chance to work. I'll check your fever in a little while."

My first instinct is to argue with him, but it proves more difficult than normal. Mostly because I'm suddenly very, very tired. And with Giles back, there's no survival or Slayery self-preservation instincts I'd be going against if I did decide to take a little nap.

So I nod, tell Giles not to let me sleep for too much longer, and let my eyes fall shut again, half wondering if I'll dream again.

More than half hoping I won't.

* * *

The Slayer falls asleep in no time at all, and I catch myself wonderin' if it could be because of whatever "stronger" medicine her ponce of a Watcher had given her earlier.

I corner the old man when he leaves the room and heads into his sorry excuse for a kitchen.

"Care to share with the class, then?" I ask him snidely, stepping 'round him and headin' for the white containers, aiming for a refill of the godforsaken pig swill. It might well be bloody disgusting, but I can already feel the knots in my stomach loosenin' up a little, the stinging burn in the back of my throat soothin' over.

That, and the scent of the Slayer's fever-pungent blood doesn't smell quite so fuckin' marvelous anymore. I'd meant it when I'd told her I could smell the fever on her, could tell that it had bothered the girl, that she almost wanted to ask me about it. Hadn't though, and thank the bloody lord for _that_. Don't know what I'da bloody told her.

Nothin' that wouldn'a ended with a threat to stake me through the heart, that's for damn certain.

And of course, the Watcher pretends not to know what I'm even bleeding on about. "What are you talking about?" he asks me, reachin' up and taking his glasses off, watching me with this tight, pinched look on his face as I dump a fresh load of pig's blood into my mug.

I smirk knowingly, turnin' over my shoulder to glance at the old man. "Why you playin' keep away from the Slayer?"

He stops his polishing immediately, turnin' his eyes slowly back up toward mine before shoving the spectacles hurriedly back on his nose. "I'm doing no such thing," he insists, castin' a brief glance in the Slayer's direction before focusing on me again.

The microwave beeps, and I shake my head, reachin' in to grab the heated mug up and turning' back 'round to face him, leanin' my back casually against the bench top.

Gotta say, I'm a little surprised there's been no threat of ropes or of a staking from him. Well, not as of yet anyway. Not that I give a ruddy damn _why_ that is exactly, just seems odd. Unless somethin' the Slayer said to him actually struck a chord?

"Right," I drawl, pushing those thoughts aside and eyein' the man from over the edge of the mug as I raise it to my lips. "That why you stopped me from tellin' the chit that her fever's high enough to kill the average human?"

Giles frowns, glancin' away from me and folding his arms across his chest. His voice drops low, like he's afraid the girl in question might hear us. "Buffy is no average human."

It's the way he says it that let's me know, he's already thinkin' what I am. What I've _been_ thinkin' since my little chat with the Slayer earlier today about that sodding special healin' of hers.

"No, she's not," I agree slowly, nodding and shoving away from the bench. "Which means her havin' a fever that high? 'S gotta mean _somethin'_." I pause, smirking, tilting my head to the side. "But you already know that, don't you."

And there it is, right on fucking cue. Watcher boy's eyes flash and he looks over his shoulder again toward the sleepin' Slayer. Can't see her from where I'm standin', but that doesn't mean I can't hear her, her breathin' just less than even, a little labored. Or that I can't _smell_ her.

Or that I can't remember how hot and smooth her bloody skin had felt beneath my hand. How that tiny sigh, that quick little gasp, had passed her lips and made my cock twitch.

Fuck.

I shake my head to clear it just in time to see Giles turn back to face me, frownin' even deeper than before.

"I've…had my suspicions," he admits slowly, acknowledging what I'd already figured out on my own to be true. He knows as bloody well as I do. There's something off about this "flu" the Slayer's got.

"Oh, your suspicions, have you?" I ask mockingly, eyes goin' wide in false surprise. Then I scoff, chuckling and settin' the drained mug down behind me. "How very astute of you." I turn back toward him, pausin' to consider why it is I suddenly feel like it matters to me, what it is that's wrong with the Slayer. Deciding that maybe I'm better off just _not_ thinkin' too hard on it.

Ignorance is fuckin' bliss, yeah?

"How long's she been sickly?" I ask the Watcher, keepin' my voice flat, uninterested.

Giles frowns at me, the scowl momentarily leavin' his face for the first time since he'd come back. "It's hard to know for certain. I know she was starting to feel ill on Friday afternoon, when I saw her." He turns to glance back at the sofa. "But it could have been before that."

"So 's been two days at least, maybe more," I say, movin' around him again and steppin' through the narrow hallways between the kitchen and the living room. I glance over my shoulder at Giles. "She's been hydratin' and takin' meds to keep the fever down, and it's higher today than it was yesterday."

The Watcher sighs heavily, reachin' a hand up and rubbin' at his temples with it. "Do you have a point, Spike?"

I lean against the wall, indicating toward the girl on the sofa with a tilt of my head. "She's gettin' worse."

His eyes flash again as he glares at me, somethin' just a touch more desperate than simple anger behind his glasses now. His voice is a low hiss. "I'm _very_ aware of that."

I shrug, fightin' the urge to smirk again, knowin' I've struck a nerve. "Just don't seem too bloody concerned," I goad him, pursing my lips.

"Perhaps you'd like to share with me why _you_ seem so concerned?" Giles goads right back, raisin' his eyebrows high, like he thinks he's caught me doin' something I bloody well shouldn't be.

Wonder if the sod knows just how fucking right he might be.

I chuckle, carefully coverin' the twinge of discomfort his words have brought me with a quick shake of my head. "Not concerned, mate. Think it's curious is all." I push off the wall and step around the Watcher again, movin' back toward the sofa. "Seems to me that if somebody is makin' the Slayer sick, usin' some sort of spell or what all," I turn to glance over my shoulder, "it might be the same sods who put this spell on _me_."

Who knows it it's an argument that makes any bloody sense or not. I've made it up on the fly, hopin' it might work to answer the question for both me _and_ the Slayer's Watcher. Not that it might not be true. Stands to pretty good reason, if you ask me, that some blighter that's in the demon huntin' business might also be in the business of offin' the competition. Not the _most_ farfetched idea, is it?

No.

Though, bloody hell, _why_ it is I'm comin' up with theories, even fuckin' fake theories, about the why's and how's of what's makin' the Slayer sick is beyond me.

God, this whole thing is a royal bloody mess. Should'a just killed the bitch. Ripped her throat out, cripplin' headache be damned, and be done with this whole _fuckin'_ thing. That had been the plan, after all. That had been why I'd come back here.

Why I'd convinced myself I'd come back here, at least.

No, no, it had been why I'd come back. Still is why I'd come back. Once I get this spell reversed, after I've done a buggering number on those soldier boys for doin' this to me in the first place, I'll do it. I'll kill her.

Can't very well kill her if she's dead, now, can I?

Giles is frownin' at me, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows as he considers my cocked up theory. "To what purpose?"

I scoff, shrugging. "Fuck if I know." And that much _is_ true. I roll my shoulders back, crackin' my neck. "You humans are a sadistic lot."

He thinks about it a little bit harder for another minute or two before finally starting to nod, like he's realizin' somethin' real important. "Well if it is something…" he trails off, the little light bulb goin' off behind his eyes. He turns 'round and heads back toward the ridiculously small kitchen, disappearing behind the wall. "If it _is_ a spell of some sort, I'm going to need help."

"Yeah well," I mutter, my voice very low, turnin' narrowed eyes back down toward the fitfully sleepin' girl on the sofa. Fighting the near overwhelmin' urge to reach down and press my finger tips to her fevered skin again. "Don't sodding look at me."

* * *

When Giles wakes me up again, I'm pleasantly surprised to see Willow sitting on the couch beside me. What I'm not so pleasantly surprised by is how much worse I seem to feel now than had before the medicine induced nap. I'm still achey, still head poundy, and I swear I've sweat out every drop of water I've managed to consume in the last 24 hours. I'm drenched.

"How you feeling, roomie?" Willow asks me, lifting the strap of her bag up over her head and setting it down on the floor beside the couch.

I force an awkward little half-smile, shuddering a little at the chill coating my skin. "Peachy," I tell her, hearing in my own ears of weak my voice sounds. "Big old side of keen." I shift my eyes back toward Giles who's standing on the other side of the couch before looking back at my friend. "And don't take this the wrong way but…what are you doing here? I thought you were all with the not wanting to catch what Buffy's got."

It had been the first question to pop up into my hazed out mind when I'd seen her sitting next to me when Giles had woken me up to check my temperature again, using a regular old thermometer this time, _thank God_ , and not the wig-tastic extra sensory senses of the vampire houseguest. The same vampire that's now sitting across the room from me, legs propped up on Giles's big overstuffed chair's ottoman, looking majorly bored.

But, weirdly enough, _not_ tied down.

"Willow's here as a help to me," Giles explains, drawing my attention back toward him. My vision's just a little more blurry than it had been earlier, and the scorching heat in my cheeks and the creepy crawlies along my skin let me know the fever hasn't gone down much. Or at all.

Actually, if anything, I think I might feel worse.

 _So much for that stronger medicine._

I blink at Giles through the fog. "Help to you… _how_ exactly?" I ask, shivering again. I can feel the pin pricks of goose bumps against the fabric of my sweat shirt, the sweat slicked skin sticking in the grossest of ways to the cotton.

Giles frowns down at me, his eyes narrowed with concern as they rake over my appearance. "I've asked her to assist me in determining the nature of the sickness you have, Buffy."

And I'm hearing him talk. Hearing the words. But I don't think I'm really _understanding_ any of it.

"Oh," I say numbly, still struggling a little bit to comprehend what it is they're saying. What it means. Willow had been awfully concerned about catching my flu the other night. She hadn't even wanted me back in the dorm. And now she's here, sitting barely inches away from me. It's not making sense. "What are you gonna do?"

"Bit curious myself," Spike speaks up from his position in the overstuffed chair, glancing up at us from the attention he's been riveting on his chipped black nails. "Last I heard Red here wasn't real inspirin' in her talents as a 'real witch'." He puts the words in air quotes.

Willow turns over her shoulder to glare at the bleached vampire. "I could've done that spell for you if you'd had the right stuff on hand," she insists, earning a dark chuckle and an eye roll from Spike.

Giles ignores the both of them, his eyes still focused on me.

"Willow is going to help us determine if…" he trails off, reaching up and removing his glasses, glancing toward the books I hadn't noticed until now that are cradled in Willow's arms "…if this illness might be mystical in nature."

Oh.

 _Oh_.

A spell. He wants Willow to do a spell on me. Because he thinks this isn't just the flu. And that's why she's here now, too. She doesn't think she'll catch it if it's…something more super than natural. I turn wide, blinking eyes toward the red headed witch beside me.

"Okay," she says quickly, twisting around to set her spell books down on the coffee table. "I know what you're thinking. Most of my spells kind of go…"

"Just this side of wonky?" I supply for her softly, squinting my eyes at her and making a grimacey face.

"Well, yeah," Willow agrees, looking sheepish. "But okay, I know what I'm doing this time."

I shake my head. Or, try to. I shake my head as best I can with how stiff my neck's suddenly become, and fight off a fresh wave of shivers. "It's…not that." Well, not _just_ that. "I just don't think it's necessary, Will." I try for another half smile, going for reassuring. It's just the flu. There's no need to pull in the big wicca-shaped guns. "I seriously doubt any baddies are trying to take me out with a case of the sniffles."

Apparently, something I've said is funny to the vampire lounging across the room, because he barks a short, harsh laugh. I turn my eyes toward him, narrowing them as he shakes his head and pins me with that piercing azure.

Quick as lightning, a flash from my dream blazes behind my eyes.

"Right," he drawls, tilting his head to the side. "Because a fever high enough to kill any normal bint is a case of the bloody sniffles."

I freeze, blinking at him.

 _Fever high enough to kill…_

I mean, sure, I knew 106 degrees was on the higher end as far as fevers go, but I didn't…I didn't think it was all potentially _fatal_ high.

And for some reason, for some completely illogical, more than likely fever related reason, it's the look on Spike's face that has me realizing this whole thing is probably a lot more serious than I thought.

I tear my gaze away from his and back toward Willow's. "You guys really think this could be something…" I trail off, blinking rapidly and looking to Giles. "You think someone might be _doing_ this to me?"

I watch as he takes a deep breath in, letting it out slowly through pursed lips as he glances away from me. "It's presenting like the standard flu virus, but nothing that usually helps with that seems to be working for you." He gestures toward the empty water glass, the layers of thick, heavy blankets and the sweatshirt I'm buried beneath. He shakes his head. "Your fever's getting higher by the hour instead lower, and as Spike so eloquently pointed out…" Giles rolls his eyes, as if it pains him to admit it, "it's dangerously high already."

I sink down into the couch cushions and think this over. I guess it… _could_ be something other than the flu. I guess I hadn't stopped to really think about it, how long I've been feeling sick, that I haven't been feeling even a little bit better. That none of the medicine helps. That I seem to be getting weaker by the hour.

That it's the fever that's been keeping the wounds from the other night from healing.

I shift on the couch, angling my head up and over Willow's shoulder so I can focus my eyes back on Spike.

"Do you think that's why my Slayer healing isn't working like normal?" I ask him pointedly, referring back to the discussion we'd had super briefly before I'd fallen asleep. Him telling me my healing powers won't work on the fever as long as I have the fever. "Because this fever's…all with the mystical or something?"

The rooms goes silent. I don't bother to really think about why, too busy looking at Spike. Too busy wondering if the question I've just stumbled through made sense or not.

The vampire just stares at me wide eyed for a moment before finally clearing his throat and shrugging. "Could be."

To my right, Giles clears his throat, too. I turn my eyes back to look at him. "Your Slayer healing isn't working?" he asks me, deep frown lines forming around his lips.

I shake my head, casting one last quick glance over to Spike before focusing my shaky attention on my Watcher. "Not like it usually does," I explain, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. I swear, my head is getting heavier by the second. "Spike broke my wrist over two days ago now and it's still not back to normal."

Willow twists around and plucks a spell book off the table, flipping it open and thumbing through the pages until she finds the one she's looking for. "Here's the spell I found," she says, glancing at me before reaching up to hand the open book to Giles. "I don't know if it'll work for this specifically, but it might let us know a little more about what we're dealing with."

"What's it do?" I ask, eyeing the book and the look on Giles's face as he skims over the open page.

Willow folds her hands nervously into her lap, biting down on her lip. "If I do it right," she explains softly, "it'll tell us if anyone's cast a spell on you recently."

"Brilliant," Spike pipes up, planting his hands on either side of the chair and launching himself back up to his feet, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "Hit me with a little of that mojo, too, would you?"

"And why should she do that?" Giles asks him frostily, turning around and folding his arms across his chest.

Spike frowns at him, gesturing out like it should be obvious. "Because," he says slowly, drawing the word out. "Red's spell'll find out what kind of spell those fuckin' wankers put on me."

Giles nods, but not like he agrees with the vampire's statement. More that Watchery, _I hear you but you're wrong so I'll just ignore_ you kind of nod. "I don't see how that's any issue of ours at the moment, do you? Willow," he turns his attention back down to her and nods toward her messenger bag. "If you'll just prepare the spell—"

And I watch, helpless, frozen to the couch as Spike let's out a low, guttural growl and moves at a lightning quick speed toward my Watcher, hands curled into fists.

* * *

I launch myself at the Watcher, catchin' him 'round the poofterish collar of his sweater and draggin' him toward me. This small movement, at least, doesn't seem to have the sodding spell goin' off in my head.

So that's somethin'.

"We had a deal," I hiss, my voice dangerously low, so close to the old man that our noses are almost touchin'.

Gotta hand it to him, though. He doesn't look all that threatened.

"No," he corrects me, his voice almost as low as mine. "You and _Buffy_ had a deal. Which, I might point out, will be null and void if she _dies_ while we're attempting to figure out whatever is going on in your head." He reaches his hands up and shoves me, hard, away from him, glarin' down at me as he straightens his shirt. "Which, if I might point out _again_ , I don't think we'll be wanting to do much to fix in the first place."

I narrow my eyes at him, hands curlin' into fists at my sides. Bloody _fuck_ , what I wouldn't give to tear the wankers buggering throat out right about now.

I exhale sharply through my nose, shakin' my head. "Typical, you self-righteous sod," I growl.

Bollocks. I shoulda known this whole sodding thing was _bollocks_.

"What did you expect, Spike?" Giles asks, lookin' at me from over the rims of his specs. "That we'd just…invite you in, feed you, figure out what's been done to you and then…what? Fix it? Let you _go_?" He gestures toward the front door, a deep furrow formin' between his eyebrows as he steps closer to me. "Turn you loose so you can swear to leave Sunnydale, be gone for three months only to return and make _another_ attempt on Buffy's life?"

I glare at the old sod, another low, rumblin' growl tearing loose from my lips. The fresh pig's blood in me swirlin', pumping hotly through my long dead veins. Another surgin', wild desire to sink my fangs into his fuckin' throat and rip. Not what I know _why_ his words have made me so sodding angry.

No, fuck that. I do.

His words have struck a huge, bloody nerve, that's why.

"I got her here, didn't I?" I ask him angrily, clenchin' my jaw tight. "Safe as bloody houses."

The Watcher's eyes flash as he stares me down. "Only after first showing up to _kill_ her."

 _Bugger._

"Well, okay, yeah," I concede quickly, sniffing and rollin' my shoulders back a bit before jabbing my finger hard in his direction. "But I didn't, did I?"

"No, you didn't," he agrees simply, pointin' his own ruddy finger toward me, aimin' it at my head. "Because of whatever those soldiers did to you."

Of bloody _course_. Of course the Slayer and her lot would do this. Bleeding white hats, willin' to do whatever it takes to save the sodding world, but not much else. Not even after I saved the chit's life. Twice.

"You right bastard," I snarl, slippin' almost unconsciously into a loose fighting stance.

"Do you want to go out and face the commandos alone?" Giles asks me now, raising both eyebrows knowingly.

"At this point?" I counter, scoffing, reachin' up to plant my hands on my hips. "Thinkin' I might just take my bloody chances."

Giles narrows his eyes on me again, takin' another step closer to me, his finger still angled hard at my chest. "You should count yourself lucky I didn't tie you back to that _bloody_ chair as soon as I got back."

"Yeah?" I widen my eyes, raisin' both brows high. "I'd like to see you try, you poncey—"

I'm cut off by the shriek.

"Giles!"

It's Red. Screamin' the Watcher's name, cuttin' me off and bringing both of our heads snappin' back round to look at the sofa.

It takes me just half a tic to understand what it is I'm seein', why she'd cried out in the first place. The little red headed witch has her hands planted on the Slayer's shoulders, holding her down as her body thrashes about. Shudderin' and convulsing violently, but not in the way she's been doin' all day. Not little shivers. Spasms. I can just make out the curve of her face, her lashes flutterin' wildly and the tangles of blonde hair flyin' this way and that from behind Red's shoulder.

"What happened?" Giles asks, rushin' forward and shovin' the witch out of the way, replacing her hands with his own larger ones, forcin' the Slayer's spasming muscles deeper down into the sofa.

"I don't know!" Red shouts, lookin' panicked as she stands to the side, all wide eyed and pale. Paler than usual. "I was laying stuff out, getting ready to do the spell and she just started—"

 _Seizing_. That's what the Slayer's doin'.

Christ knows I've seen it before.

"Bloody hell," I groan, rollin' my eyes up to the ceiling. "Girl's havin' a seizure."

"What do we do?" the witch asks, the words tumbling out, leavin' her lips in a tangled rush.

Chit innit askin' me, I know. She's lookin' down at the Watcher. But that doesn't stop me from answerin' anyway. "You get away from her."

The watcher this time, hands still firmly around the Slayer's thrashin' shoulders, whips his head around toward me. "What?"

He's gotta know this. He must. But oh no, since I said it, since it's advice comin' from the vamp it _must_ be bloody wrong.

I grit my teeth hard, watchin' as the Slayer's body jerks again. "Look, just fuckin' do it, alright?" I snarl, getting' more agitated by the second. "Dru used to have fits like this at times. She's in a safe spot, just get away from her."

But the Watcher doesn't move. Just stays there, on his knees beside the Slayer, still holdin' onto her— as if that's gonna do a _sodding_ thing. Only goin' to make it worse, he is.

Oh, bloody buggering… "Fuck," I hiss under my breath. Then, a little louder, "Move." I storm forward and knock Giles away from the sofa, _and_ the convulsing girl, before he can cause any more damage. Surprisingly enough, the old man let's me shove him aside, doesn't make another move to argue, either. Just sits there and stares at me, like he's just seen a fuckin' pig take off in a rocket to the moon.

Christ.

After a few more agonizingly long seconds, the Slayer's muscles spasm and contract for the last time before every inch of her relaxes and goes limp, sinkin' deep into the cushions of the sofa. Her breathin' is ragged, labored, and her heart is thuddin' some ungodly fast rhythm into her ribs, but from what I can tell no major damage has been done.

Not that I _care_ , mind you. But apparently if she goes and bloody kicks it I'm well and good out of a deal, aren't I?

Can't have that.

It's with these thoughts, and _only_ these thoughts in mind that I find myself inchin' forward and crouchin' down in front of the sofa, reaching a hand out to cup the Slayer's softy shiverin' shoulder. I grip her limp shoulder firmly, use my hand to roll her over onto her side.

I watch as her lashes flutter once. Twice. And my hand is still firmly grippin' her shoulder, feelin' the heated flush of her skin through the layers of clothing as she finally forces her eyes open and blinks up at me.

* * *

I think I open my eyes expecting to see Giles, but the stormy, swirling blue looking back at me now is definitely, decidedly _not_ his.

 _Spike._

God, it's like he's everywhere.

I'm lying on my side now, but I don't know for sure how I got there. I think I'd been sitting up when Giles and Spike had been arguing. The heavy blankets that had been wrapped over me earlier are tossed aside, draped half on and half off the couch. I shiver again, but I don't really think it's from the cold this time.

I stare unwaveringly at the vampire in front of me, wondering why it seems to be easier for me now to make and hold eye contact with him. Whatever's…just happened.

"What happened?" I ask, not even a little surprised when my voice comes out weak and scratchy. Everything hurts. Every muscle feels like it's been stretched and shrunk and then shrunk some more only to be ripped apart one more time for good measure.

And my head. _God_ , my head.

Spike keeps his eyes on me, scanning them across my face hurriedly before landing back on mine once more. "Had a bloody seizure, that's what."

A _seizure_?

I blink at him, feeling what are probably little seizure after shocks rippling through my muscles as I inhale then exhale a weak sounding "Oh."

"Oh?" Spike bites out, looking like he's sort of fighting the urge to laugh. He drops his hand away from me and stands up. "Christ, Slayer, 's a miracle you've lasted as long as you have."

"I really have to agree," Giles murmurs dryly from somewhere to my left. I twist my head slightly, inclining it toward his voice but I still can't see him very clearly. There are these little white dots flashing in my eyes every time I blink.

"Willow," Giles continues, reminding me that my friend is also here, somewhere. "Will you get Buffy some water, please?"

There's a distant shuffling sound, a clinking, the sound of running water and then a cool glass is being placed inside my shaking hand and I can just make out the red of Willow's hair in the last little bit of dim light filling the living room.

I take it from her, feeling how insanely heavy it feels in my hand as I try and lift it to my lips. I try once, but my hand shakes too much and I can't make it. On the second attempt, Willow places her hand below the glass to help guide it, taking it from me and setting it down once I've taken a few small sips.

I swallow hard, watching as she turns back toward Giles, who's watching me in such an intense way that it makes me feel like I know where he got his title from.

"Maybe we shouldn't try the spell tonight," Willow suggests softly, casting a quick glance at me over her shoulder as she does.

"No," I say quickly, coughing a little in the process. I wait until both Giles and Willow are looking down at me. Spike's looking at me, too, I know, but from a vantage point I can't see from where I'm laying. "Do it. I wanna know what's happening to me. The sooner we know, the sooner we can stop it."

Giles frowns, his lips forming a hard thin line. "Are you certain, Buffy?" He pulls his glasses off. "You did just have a seizure."

I nod, then wince, my head feeling all cotton stuffed and throbby. "A seizure caused by a fever that may or may not be magically induced." I turn my gaze on Willow. "Do it."

My friend sighs, biting down on the inside of her cheek and nodding at me once before turning toward my Watcher. "It is sort of our only option if we want to know who's doing this."

" _If_ someone's doing this," I correct her flatly, making a face and slowly, painfully, rolling over onto my back. "What if I really am just sick? I'll be the first Slayer in history taken out by a glorified cold." I shiver again, dropping my head back down into the pillows with a huff that comes out a lot more like a whimper. "God, how lame is that?"

From across the room, Spike snorts. My eyes find his from over Willow's shoulder. "Worst cold I've ever seen," he quips, lips quirking up in a wry smirk.

Giles tosses a scathing glance in the direction of smirking vampire before looking back at me. "It is curious that your Slayer healing would be unequipped to help bring the fever down at all," he says, folding his arms across his chest.

"Okay," I say, the word leaving my lips on an exhale. I turn toward Willow, giving her a small nod. "Let's make with the spell casting, then." A beat. Then, "What's the worst that could happen?"

And like they have a mind of their own, my eyes find their way back to Spike's. He shakes his head, still smirking at me with that same I know so much that you don't look on his face as he murmurs "Famous last words, Slayer."

Thirty minutes, way too many stinky spell ingredients and several botched attempts later, Willow finishes the final, successful, trial of her spell and looks at me, shaking her head.

"Nope, nothing. For _sure_ this time." She glances over her shoulder toward Giles. "Whatever this is, it's not a spell."

I roll my eyes, letting my heavy head slump down against the back of the couch cushions. "Great."

Giles purses his lips, turning his back on me and taking a few steps across the living room. "It has to have been something you came in contact with then," he mumbles, almost like it's more to himself than to any of us. Then he turns around, putting his hands on his hips. "Can you remember anything…out of the ordinary that might have happened a day or so before you fell ill?"

I frown, trying my best to cut through the haze and think of a true answer to his question. My out-of-the-ordinary gauge is a little…off. Has been every since I was first called to be a vampire slayer. So something has to be pretty majorly with the out of the ordinary for it to feel, well, out of the ordinary…for me. I think about it a little longer before finally shaking my head.

"No," I say, looking at my Watcher. "Everything was pretty much well _within_ the ordinary. I went to class during the day and patrolled at night, like normal."

Giles frowns, thinking this over. It grows quiet in the room for a moment.

Then Willow makes a sharp, sudden "oh" sound and angles her body toward mine. "But didn't you have that extra credit assignment you were working on for Professor Walsh?" she asks excitedly, her eyes searching mine, wide and luminous.

 _Ugh_.

School. Just the thing I was looking to be reminded of as a too high fever that may or may not be some Big Bad's idea of biological warfare is boiling me from the inside out. "Oh, crap," I grumble under my breath. "That's due Tuesday, isn't it?"

"Buffy," Giles says sternly, using his just slightly impatient voice.

"I, uh, yeah. I went to the library to get some extra help from Riley." Then, turning back to Giles. "But I was there for like, thirty minutes at most, and then it was all back with the usual."

Giles has a weird look on his face now. "Riley?" he asks hesitantly, looking confused.

"Our psych TA," Willow volunteers breezily, gesturing absently with her hand. "He was at the party the other night, too."

"He's actually who invited us," I add, reaching a shaking hand out toward the water glass again and managing to grip it without quite as much trouble this time. "It was his house."

I watch as the frown lines smooth away from Giles's forehead, his eyes lightening a little as he registers this new information. He turns to me. "And that's when you started getting sick, Buffy?"

"Yeah," I say slowly, lowering the glass from my lips and wondering why he suddenly looks like he's just figured out something way important. I frown at him just as another shiver races down my spine. "What's the up, Giles? You have lightbulb face."

He starts pacing again, walking back across the room, stopping once he reaches the edge of the TV before turning back around again. "It was only _after_ coming home from this party that the fever symptoms started, correct?"

I glance toward Willow, who shakes her head and offers a little shrug. "Correct," I say, still halfway wondering where all this is going. He'd been the one to suggest to me I was coming down with something, and that had been hours before the party. Hours before the chills and the fever had come up.

And if I'd been a little with the confused on his previous couple of questions, I'm flat out drawing a blank on the next one.

"Did you have anything to drink while you were there?"

I make a face at him that I'm hoping says "duh", but in a nice way. "It _was_ a party, Giles."

He nods. "And did you happen to see the drink being made?"

I feel the "duh" expression melt off my face as I look at him, at the hard look he's giving me. I swallow against the dryness in my mouth, the lump that's suddenly starting to form in the back of my throat. "No," I say slowly, "but I–"

Spike clucks his tongue reproachfully, drawing my eyes over to him where he's lounging back in Giles's big chair, an uninterested expression on his face. "Bad form, pet," he says smoothly, shaking his head as he looks at me. "Even _I_ know better than that."

I glare at him, narrowing my eyes to little slits before turning to look back at Giles. "So, what?" I ask him, closing my heavy eyes for a minute as I work through all this, the implications that both the vampire and my Watcher seem to be making. "You think there was some kind of supernatural… _roofie_ in my drink?" I open my eyes again, blinking up at the older man.

Giles shakes his head, suddenly looking really, really tired. "I'm not sure what to think just yet."

"But yeah," Spike interjects, chuckling.

I exhale loudly, not bothering to look in the bleached blondes direction this time. "You're saying somebody at Lowell House knows that I'm the Slayer…and for some wacked out reason…they have it out for me?" My eyes shift back and forth between Giles and Spike. "You know how insane that sounds, right?"

Giles makes a face at me, coming over and setting down another fresh glass of ice cold water and two more little red pills beside it, removing the old glass as he does. Nothing helps to bring the fever down, but we've discovered the colder the water, the better it works to take a little of the flush away from my cheeks.

"Insane or not, right now it's the only lead we have." He turns away from me and over toward Willow, sighing heavily and reaching a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Did you see anything odd while you were at the party, Willow?"

The wicca shakes her head, biting down on the inside of her cheek. "Not really," she says simply. "I just hung out with Riley, mostly. Until the end of the night…" she trails off, and her green eyes do their own version of the light bulgy thing as she looks at me. "And that _was_ kind of weird." Then to Giles. "The guys said there some kind of big house emergency and they shut the party down early, kicked everyone out."

Spike perks up now, leaning forward from where he's been sprawling across the chair and angling his head to the side so he has a clear view of the red head beside me. "And about what time was that?" he asks, his eyes suddenly narrowed, jaw clenched in concentration.

"I don't know," Willow says slowly, turning slightly wary eyes from me toward our unlikely vampire ally. She shrugs. "10:00, maybe 10:30?"

Spike's eyes whip to mine at the same instant mine go to find his, a slow sort of understanding forming between us from across my Watcher's living room.

"You think—" I begin.

"'S possible, innit?" Spike says, cutting me off and getting back up to his feet. Every movement he makes is sinuous, lithe. One second he's sprawled luxuriously over the chair and the next he's up and five feet across the room, still talking to me animatedly. "Human. Tall. Couldn't see their faces, but coulda easily been your lot's age." He gestures between Willow and I for emphasis.

"You think the boys at Lowell House are the same as Buffy's commandos?" Giles asks skeptically, perking a brow and leveling Spike with a disbelieving expression. "That they just decided to…leave their own party to attack a girl's dormitory?"

Okay, so when you say it like that it has all the elements of crazy, fever driven paranoia. But honestly, the more I think about it the more likely it actually seems. The commandos had shown up just as the worst of my fevery symptoms had started. Just as I was starting to get weak. At the time, I'd assumed they'd come back looking for Spike. But is it possible they hadn't been there for him at all?

Of course it is. It's _more_ than possible.

The coincidence hadn't been that the commandos had chased down their escapee, but that said escapee happened to have been hunting me at the same time. It had been _me_ that they'd focused on, both in the dorm room and out in the hallway. _Me_ that they'd shot at.

Spike would have been able to get away so easily if he hadn't stopped…if he hadn't come back for me.

The invitation to the party, the drink, the abnormally high fever, the way it's literally zapped every ounce of strength I have.

Not a coincidence.

"Giles, it actually makes sense," I say softly, still sifting through my thoughts, wondering how I hadn't been able to put two and two together before now. I shake my head. "The fever symptoms do seem kind of big with the coincidental, and the timing _would_ be right."

 _Not a coincidence at all._

Spike makes a purring little "hmm" type sound, and I look up in time to see him lean back on his heels, placing his hands on his hips and drumming a disjointed little rhythm against the denim of his jeans. He tilts his head to the side, eyeing me through his lashes. "Looks like demons aren't the only things those soldier boys are out in force for."

"Yeah," I mumble numbly, feeling my stomach start to roll with a fresh wave of nausea. "Looks like."


	6. Chapter 6

For a really long moment, nobody moves. My head is still spinning, equal parts headachy, pounding with pain and swirling with trying to make sense of this new information.

The commandos were after me. They were after me that whole time.

"So what do we do now?" Willow asks hesitantly, her eyes wide, looking back and forth between me and my Watcher.

"What do you mean, what do we do now?" I ask her, ignoring how hoarse my voice sounds as I blink up at her. "We get with the making better of me and then I go kick some soldier butt."

To the left of me, Giles clears his throat, his eyes turned down to the rug. "And how exactly do you propose we do that?" he asks slowly, gaze narrowed slightly when he turns to look back down at me. Not accusing, but skeptical. Like I've just suggested something so silly it hardly warrants a response.

It's not a look I'm exactly a stranger to.

I frown at him, annoyed. "Well if they dosed me or… _whatever_ ," I begin, thinking it through out loud even as I say the words. My brow furrows as I glance back at Willow. "Shouldn't there be some kind of antidote?"

That's how these things work, isn't it? Drugs have antidotes. Or is that poison? I can't remember, can hardly think straight with the throbbing in my temples. Drugs, poison, they're kind of the same thing, right?

"There's probably something," Willow agrees, nodding her head once. Then she pauses, frowning. "Or if there isn't one, I might be able to make one…" she trails off and turns toward Giles, frowning deeper. " _If_ I knew what it is they used in the first place."

Right. Because in order for there to be an antidote or an anti-venom, we need to know what the venom was to begin with. Fever brain sort of had me skipping past that part before.

I shift slightly on the sofa, pushing myself further into a sitting position and ignoring the way my muscles creak and ache in protest as I do. They feel like they're getting stiffer by the hour. I look to Giles. "If we can find the commando's headquarters or command central…" I trail off, frustrated with my sudden inability to choose the right words. "Wherever these guys are based out of—"

"'S a lab," Spike says now, cutting me off and bringing my attention back to him. He's still standing in front of me, a little behind and to the side of Giles. That little half-amused expression he'd been pinning me with earlier is still firmly in place. I watch as he tilts his head to the side, lashes fluttering dark against his cheeks. He's already told _me_ all this, so I know it isn't for my benefit now. "Some kind of lab. White tile walls, lotsa glass. Blokes runnin' round in white coats." And then he cuts himself off abruptly, tears his eyes away from mine and rolls them up to the ceiling, shaking his head. Like he's just caught himself. When he speaks again, the words are low and leave his lips on a sigh. "'S where they kept me, at least."

Giles is staring at the vampire with a confused expression, brows drawn together over his forehead. "A lab?"

Spike nods, dropping his eyes back down and fixing them somewhere on the wall behind my head. The little muscle in his jaw ticks once, his lips pursed slightly. Frustrated, I think, though I can't tell exactly why.

And it kind of bothers me.

And then it starts to bother me that it bothers me, so I push the thought aside and try and refocus on the bigger, more soldiery issue. "Okay," I say, purposefully looking away from the bleached blonde and focusing back on Giles. "So we find this…lab. Break in and find the thing they dosed me with," I turn my gaze to Willow, gesturing with a small head tilt, "Will makes me an antidote and _poof_. " I settle back into the pillows behind me, feeling better now that I've put a plan together in my head. "Instant sickless Slayer."

It seems simple enough to me. Judging by the looks on the faces around me, though, that might also be a fever brain thing.

"Umm," Willow murmurs, biting down on her bottom lip and giving me wide, I-don't-know-about-this eyes. So, something I've said isn't going to be as easy as I've made it sound. That's _always_ what that face means.

The smile falls from my face instantly. "It's the poof-causing antidote part, isn't it?"

Willow shakes her head. "No, no, the poofing shouldn't be a problem. I just…" she glances toward Giles, then slowly back toward me. "How are we supposed to find the lab in the first place?"

Oh, right. Crap. The plan _does_ sort of hinge on being able to find the place. Can't do much searching the premises if we don't know where said premises is. But there has to be _some_ way to find it. Maybe one of Willow's locator spells, or a-a…

"Spike." The lightbulb goes on in my head maybe a second before his name is leaving my lips. I lean slightly to the left, angling myself so I can better meet the vampire's eyes around Giles. He's staring at me, blinking, one eyebrow raised warily. "Do you remember anything?"

He pauses a moment before responding, scarred eyebrow still high. "Remember lotsa things," he says casually, tilting his head to the side like he knows he's purposefully not answering the question I've asked him.

I narrow my eyes in response, not in the mood. "Anything about where you were when you escaped from the _lab_?" I press, clarifying, my voice as snarky as I can manage.

Spike's lips twitch up into a half-smirk, azure eyes watching me knowingly. "Not much," he answers simply, shrugging and rolling his shoulders back. "I came up through an air vent, I don't know exactly where."

This brings the frown back to my face. "An air vent to outside?" I ask, blinking at him.

Spike just nods once, slowly, his expression like it should be obvious. " _Yeah_."

I'm still frowning, still trying to put it all together. Up through an air vent, to outside. And then I assume he'd come for me straight after…straight to the dorm. So he couldn't have been _that_ far away from the dorm when he'd escaped. "Were you on campus?"

"Bloody hell," Spike mutters under his breath, glancing away from me briefly before whipping his gaze back to mine. "Told you, I don't know." Then he sniffs off handedly, dropping his eyes to the ground. "Wasn't exactly concerned with studyin' my surroundings at the time."

I make a face at the vampire who's no longer looking at me. He hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings because he'd been more concerned at the time with finding and killing me. Because he'd thought I was responsible. Somehow I'd almost managed to forget all about that. Maybe because Spike's actually been helpful over the past couple days. Maybe because I always manage to forget how much he desperately wants me dead whenever we're in the middle of a truce. Which, weirdly enough, we've actually had plenty of…for being mortal enemies, and all.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," I say now, pushing thoughts of Spike and his wig-inducing tendency to seek me out when he needs help to the back of my mind and focusing instead on my Watcher. "If I'm right, and the Lowell House guys and the commandos are the same people—"

He nods his head once, folding his arms across his chest and saying thoughtfully "Something we have yet to officially confirm."

I stop mid-thought, having been cut off anyway, and stare up at the older man. "What's your point?" I ask, trying my best to ignore the shivers running down my back, my skin prickling all over for the millionth time in goose bumps. Unconsciously, I shift lower against the couch cushions and pull the blanket up higher.

"We still don't know for certain it was the commandos that did this to you," Giles explains, unfolding one arm to reach his hand up and pluck his glasses off his face and using them to gesture absently as he continues. "We're working off a rather large assumption—"

"Party," I say quickly, my turn to cut him off, pulling one hand out from below the blanket and ticking each item off on my finger as I mention them again. "Drink. Fever. Supernatural roofie." I shiver and stuff my hand back below the blanket. "Any of this ringing a bell?"

It should be, considering he's the one that put it all together the first time around. Like, five minutes ago.

Giles does seem to acknowledge this, because he nods, looking down at me. "True, it would be highly coincidental if they _weren't_ one in the same." He pauses, thinking it over briefly before he glances down to the ground again and begins polishing the lenses of his glasses on the hem of his shirt. "But what I'm struggling the most with is why. What purpose would they have in drugging you to begin with?"

And it's my turn to give him the _it should be obvious_ expression. I raise both eyebrows, glancing down at my still shivering form hidden beneath the blanket before meeting his eyes again. "Maybe to make me all weak and kitteny and defenseless?"

"Alright," Giles concedes with another nod, reaching up to place his glasses back on his nose. "Say that much is true. Why exactly would they want to make you weak and…" he inhales, sighing as he gives me the tiniest of Watchery eye rolls. "… _kitteny_?"

I open my mouth automatically to respond, but Spike beats me to it.

"To perform experiments on you, I'd wager," the vampire says, his voice still airy, light and uninterested and casual as he picks at the chipped polish on his nails. I watch him shrug again before glancing in my direction. "'S what they did to me."

Our eyes meet and lock, and for some reason, for whatever reason, the air I'd been about to breathe sticks and catches in the back of my throat. Because I remember asking him about this, that day holed up in that musty crypt together. I'd asked him what all the commandos had done to him, and he hadn't answered. _Experiments_.

They'd _experimented_ on him?

My stomach clenches, rolls once with the familiar waves of nausea as the blue-eyed vampire and I continue to stare at each other. My eyes search his, narrowing slightly. I see something there, I think. Something different though I don't have the single, slightest clue what. And the moment's over before I can read it, anyway. Spike's eyes flash suddenly and he looks away, riveting his attention back on his finger nails, expression smoothing over, back to cool and disinterested.

I whip my gaze back to Giles, clearing my throat and forcing my voice to adopt its own forced casual tone. Equally disinterested. "So they can perform experiments on me the same way they did to Spike?"

And even though I pretend they don't, the words leave a sour taste in my mouth. Which I promptly ignore and shove the back of my throbbing head to be dealt with at another, much later time.

Half past never.

"But again," Giles is saying, already frowning and shaking his head. "I have to wonder _why_. You said this…Riley Finn," he glances back and forth between Willow and I, "that he's an instructor of yours?"

Willow nods. "A TA," she says, "for Professor Walsh."

"And he's the one who invited to you this party at Lowell House?" Giles prompts again. Willow and I exchange a look, then turn back toward him and nod. He rocks back on his heels, considering this with a frown. "My question then becomes, why dose _you,_ specifically? If they're in the business of hunting demons, which it appears they are, it doesn't make sense." He focuses back on me, eyes narrowed in concentration. "From an outside perspective, you're little more than the average college co-ed…"

"Gee, thanks," I grumble half-heartedly, shifting further back into the couch and raising an eyebrow at my Watcher.

But he isn't listening to me, still caught up in all his logic and reasoning and whatever else is going on in his head as he murmurs, half under his breath, "…So they must have known somehow. Seen you on patrol, o-or—"

This has my ears perking up, even as a fresh wave of shivers winds its way down my spine. "Known that I'm the Slayer?" I ask, my teeth chattering a little from the effort of my muscles contracting, my body shaking.

Giles focuses on me again, frowning deeply as he nods once. "Or something not quite natural. To the untrained eye a Slayer likely bears a striking resemblance to a vampire in human visage." He tilts his head demonstratively toward the floor, arms still folded. "The same strength, same speed."

Spike scoffs loudly, and I find my eyes shooting back to him instantly. I watch as he shakes his head, a wry smile on his lips as he steps around and pulls his wooden chair back toward him, flipping it around and dropping down on it so he's straddling it backwards.

Giles pauses mid-sentence, turning a scathing glare in the blonde vampire's direction. "Is something funny?"

Spike shifts slightly, crossing his arms and bracing them over the back of the chair, tilting his head to the side as he looks over his shoulder at the older man. "Those blighters don't think the Slayer's a vamp," he says breezily, dismissively. He blinks those long lashes at Giles, then glances back toward me, pinning me with one of those knowing looks that makes me feel like he can see inside my brain. "If they did, they wouldn'a wasted time on whatever poncy drug they used. Woulda just taken her, way they did me." He cocks his head to the side, azure eyes gleaming as they shift back toward Giles. "If they're after her, and it's very obvious they _are_ , s'not a case of mistaken identity."

Giles frowns at the vampire almost like he doesn't believe him, but his expression darkens that way it does when he's about to give me way bad, apocalypse worthy news. "Did they see your face, Buffy?" he asks, turning toward me. "Before, when you had your initial encounter with them?"

I freeze, trying to think back that far, having trouble forming a solid thought. It feels like it was weeks ago, that first run-in we'd had. I know I hadn't seen that commando's face, but had they seen _mine_?

"I-I don't…I mean, I'm not sure," I stammer lamely. "It was..." My eyes find Spike's again, searching them, maybe even looking for that brief flash of whatever it was I'd seen earlier. I don't find it now. There's nothing there but a practiced, cold indifference. "You really think they wanted to do experiments on me?" I ask him numbly, letting the thought settle in my mind now in a way I hadn't allowed before. The words is so majorly cold. Clinical. It brings to mind all sort of horrific images, mainly of frog dissections and tubes filled with bubbly, burning fluids.

My stomach rolls again.

But Spike just nods, letting out a low chuckle when he notices my eyes widen slightly. "Not so fun when the hunter becomes the hunted, is it?" He muses, his voice low and smooth, lashes sweeping down slowly, then up again.

My cheeks flush hot. Well, hotter, anyway. I glare at the vampire, annoyed, probably irrationally annoyed, that he seems to be enjoying my panic so much. "You should know," I counter coolly, raising my eyebrows.

The vampire's eyes flash, any trace of amusement quacking the corners of his lips vanishing. "Touché, luv," he rumbles, narrowing his own eyes at me.

My mouth opens instinctively to tell him again, for the thousandth time, not to call me that, but I stop short. I don't know why. Maybe because we don't have time for banter. Maybe because bickering with Spike seems counterproductive. Maybe because the pet name doesn't bother me now nearly as much as it had a few days ago.

Which I'm figuring is yet another weird, fevery side effect.

For whatever reason, I snap my mouth closed and consciously turn away from Spike and back toward Giles, reaching a hand up to press my fingers to my fevered forehead. "We've gotta find that lab," I murmur, directing the conversation back to more immediate issues. I start to shift forward on the couch, twisting the fingers of my free hand around to grip the edge of the blanket and lift it off my lap.

I swear, it's even heavier now than it had been an hour ago.

Or, ya know, I'm just that much weaker. It's not real big with the good, either way.

"What?" Giles asks, his voice indignant as he stares down at me, blinking. " _Now_?"

"No," I say sarcastically, still trying to shift and pull the blanket at the same time and not having a whole lot of luck. "Let's wait until I fall into a fever induced coma and do it then." I roll my eyes, slowly starting to move my legs around and over the edge of the couch. "Yes, _now_. I'm not just gonna sit around here and wait for whatever's in my system to make me worse," I say, wincing a little at the pain in my legs, the achy soreness threading up through my calves as I place my feet flat on the floor.

"No," Giles counters flatly, "but you might wait and see if you get a little stronger. If this _is_ some kind of drug—"

"If?" I ask, blinking up at him, frowning. "I think we've established this isn't just some flu bug, Giles, and me sitting here isn't helping anyone," I tell him huffily, shaking my head and pretending I don't feel a little woozy. "Rest and fluids aren't gonna cut it."

I've only been sitting upright, _upright_ upright, for maybe all of ten seconds and already my head is spinning. Or the room is spinning.

 _Something_ is spinning.

And it must be written all over my face, that fact that the room is most definitely spinning, because Giles sighs loudly. "The fact remains that you're in no condition to go anywhere. You can barely sit up on your own, let alone fight the commandos if that's what it came down to."

He's right.

Not that Giles being right has ever stopped me in the end from doing pretty much whatever it was I'd gotten in my head to begin with. True, most of those times didn't include being roofied by on-campus soldiers posing as psych TA's and coming down with a supernaturally high, debilitating fever.

And right on cue, I'm hit by another round of tremors. The muscles in my neck and shoulders tense and lock up and I let myself flop back into the cushions with a huff, glaring up at my Watcher as if the sudden chills are his fault. "You have a better plan?" I ask snippily, letting my head loll against the couch's back. "I'm all ears. But how do you _propose_ to get me better if we don't know exactly what's making me sick in the first place?"

And the immediate, chuckled response from our resident vamp peanut gallery. "Slayer's got a point, mate."

"Spike," Giles says dryly, turning toward the vampire with an impassive expression. "Do shut up."

Spike says something snarky in response to Giles that has my Watcher turning more fully toward him and using a few choice words, but I'm already tuning them both out again, turning my thoughts toward the commandos and this top secret lab of theirs. Where it could be, where I can find it. Where I should start looking.

"What's going on up there?" Willow asks me softly, making me jump and whip my gaze toward her. I'd almost forgotten she was there at all.

"What?" I ask, not really even having heard the question.

Willow frowns at me, looking a little concerned. "You have your coming up with a plan face," she tells me, speaking a little louder now over the bickering of the Spike and Giles.

"Just thinking about where to start looking," I tell her honestly. "I think Lowell House is smartest. Look for clues, see if there's an entrance into the lab or...or something." I press both hands down into the couch cushion below me and try and leverage myself up again, gripping at the rug with my bare toes like somehow that'll help with the vertigo. "I can say I left my purse there the other night during the party and—"

"So your plan is to walk directly into the belly of the beast, is that it?" Giles interrupts me, clearly finished saying…well, whatever it is he'd been saying to Spike, his attention now focused back on me. "Terribly clever."

I roll my eyes at him but can't ignore the pang of relief in my muscles when I let go of the cushion and flop against the back of the couch again. "These guys, if they _are_ same guys, don't want people to know that they have some top secret demon hunting mission going on," I explain, half making it up as I go and half realizing the truth of the words as I say them. "If they weren't trying to keep up appearances they would have just…taken me at the party, not waited for me to get back to the dorm." I pause, thinking more about what I've just said and turning my eyes down toward the coffee table, not really seeing it. "They waited to make their move for a reason."

"And you think that reason is to keep up this pretense of being university students?" Giles asks me, letting his crossed arms fall away from his chest as he seems to hear what it is I've been saying, finally.

I nod, only half realizing it when I reach around me for the blanket and pull it back onto my lap, covering my bare, goose bumpy legs again. "It's the only thing that makes sense. Besides," I say as lightly as possible, shrugging, "if I'm wrong and Lowell has nothing to do with the commandos I won't be in any danger, anyway."

"You were planning to go on your own, then?" Giles asks skeptically, tilting his head down so he can look at me from over the rims of his glasses.

I sigh. "Gonna guess by the super British way you said that that you don't think that's a good idea."

"Well that's unfair," Giles tells me flatly, brow furrowing. "I don't think _any_ of this is a good idea."

"Yeah, well…"I grumble under my breath, looking away from him and pulling the blanket more fully over into my lap, shivering as I do. "I don't hear you coming up with any brilliant plans."

This whole feverish, trapped inside, bedridden thing is starting to make me cranky.

"Why can't I go?" Willow asks suddenly, glancing between me and Giles, green eyes wide. "I mean, they know I'm your roommate and everything but they don't know that I know what they did to you." She gestures toward me with her hand, palm up as her voice pitches a little higher with that wide-eyed enthusiasm that's just so completely Willow that for a second I forget how crappy I feel. "They don't even know that I know you're the Slayer."

But the non-crappy feeling is short-lived as I think about what she's saying, and I shake my head. "No, Will," I say softly, "I don't want you going in there alone."

"You were going to," Giles says pointedly, and I can't tell if he's trying to prove a point or just make one.

Either way, it bugs.

My go to response as I pin him with a hard look. "I'm the _Slayer_."

"Not right now you're not," Spike mutters with a little scoffing sound, his voice low. So low I almost don't think I was actually supposed to hear him.

"What?" I ask, fixing the vampire with a raised brow.

Spike turns on the back of his chair, angling himself more directly in front of me and eyeing me through his lashes. "Don't have your strength," he says, indicating each different aspect by ticking them off on his left hand as he names them, "or your speed. Or…any coordination at all, it'd seem." he drops his hand again, shrugging casually. "Already established your special Slayer healin' innit up to snuff. Right now, you're not much more'n a sickly little girl with a bloody high fever."

"What's your point?" I ask him, narrowing my eyes as I do.

Spike shrugs again, leaning backward in the chair to stretch his arms out. "Don't really have one. Not even sure why we're still talkin' about this." He inclines his head toward Willow but keeps his eyes on me. "Thought Red here was the new and improved 'plan.'"

He puts the word "plan" in air quotes, and I'm torn between wanting to slap him across the face and wanting to laugh hysterically. Not that I have the energy to do either, cause I'm pretty sure that's a big no.

"At this point I care less about who the plan is and more about whether or not it works," I mumble dejectedly, resigned, finally pulling my feet up off the floor and tucking my legs back into my chest, covering myself completely with the blanket and sinking sideways down onto the couch again. I look at Willow. "We've gotta find out what they used on me."

"We will," she promises quickly, offering me a small smile.

Spike sighs, turning to glance over his left shoulder back to where Giles is standing. "And there's no chance at all it'll just…" the vampire waves his hand at me vaguely, wiggling his fingers, "ya know, _wear off_?"

"I suppose it's possible," Giles replies quietly, folding his arms over his chest once again and looking toward the bleached blonde. "It's hard to say without knowing exactly what the commando's goal might have been in dosing Buffy in the first place. If it was meant to keep her incapacitated throughout the entire time they…" he trails off, his voice dropping even lower as he searches for the right word to use. "… _worked_ on her, or if it was merely meant to weaken her until they could get her secured."

"My bet's on the latter," Spike says now, head still turned toward my Watcher. "When the white coats were runnin' their tests on me it was like the sods _wanted_ me at full strength." he inclines his head back toward me. "Imagine it'd be the same for her."

Giles nods, and they both look back at me at the same time. It's almost funny, the way both pairs of blue eyes widen when they realize I'm looking at them. That I've most definitely heard everything they've just said.

Not like they were big with the discreet, anyway.

"No, go ahead," I murmur, turning over onto my side and pulling the blanket over my shoulder, bringing my legs up to my chest until I'm in some wonky version of the fetal position. "Keep talking like I'm not here, it's great."

And totally bizarre. Not that we haven't already established that everything about this is bizarre, but still.

Beside me, Willow sighs. "I'll go over to Lowell House tomorrow, during the day."

"Not alone," I tell her sternly, or as sternly as I can manage with my cheek pressed against the pillow.

She looks at me and nods. "I'll make Xander go with me. I'll be lost purse girl and we can take a look around."

"I'll go out on campus tomorrow afternoon, as well," Giles says, watching as Willow gets up to her feet and grabs her messenger bag, looping the strap up over her head. "See if I can't spot any of these mysterious air vents."

Spike snorts, and I can't quite tell if it's because he thinks Giles is funny or if it's because he kind of wants to rip his throat out.

"And what do I do?" I ask lamely, still balled up awkwardly on my side on the couch, feeling about as pathetic as I'm sure I look. But this is the only position I've found that doesn't make everything hurt. "Just lay here and be useless?"

"That's about the size of it," Spike quips, smirking at me from where he's sitting, his chin now resting on the back of his folded arms.

I narrow my gaze on the vampire, fighting the suddenly overwhelming urge to stick my tongue out at him while I'm at it. Being sick has always made me cranky, but this extra high fever has me extra tense and the bleached menace isn't making things any less tense by being his usual pain in the ass self. Though even through the haze of the fever I've noticed even the most direct jibes he's made toward me tonight have lacked quite the same malicious edge I'm used to. "You're hardly useless, Buffy," Giles tells me now, looking a little more relaxed now that I'm obviously not ready to take off on my soldier-butt kicking mission just yet. "You're simply ill." He puts both hands into his front pockets and shrugs, glancing off to the side. "There's still a possibility the fever could break and the drug in your system could wear off."

I make a face at him. "Awful lot of could going on in that sentence, Giles."

His eyes shift back to mine and he gives me a small, tight lipped smile. "Everything will be just fine." He turns his attention to red head still hovering beside the couch next to me. "Thank you for your help, Willow."

"Oh, sure," she says, smiling at him. Then she thinks about it and the smile falls a little. "Just wish my help could've been more helpful."

Giles smiles kindly at her and gestures toward the door, turning and stepping back around the couch and walking Willow over. I listen to the rest of their conversation even after I can't see them anymore. "I'll phone you tomorrow and let you know if the fever's broken," Giles tells her, and I hear the turning of the knob, the sound of the wood scraping against the jam as the door is pulled open.

"I'll probably go by Xander's and fill him in, too," Willow tells him softly. Then more loudly, directed toward me. "Bye, Buffy. Feel better, okay?"

I raise my hand weakly to wave at her from over the back of the couch. "I'll try," I mumble, letting my hand drop back down to my chest and tucking it up under my chin, listening for the sound of the door being shut and Giles's footsteps as he walks in the direction of the kitchen. I press my cheek further into the pillow and squeeze my eyes shut against the pounding in my head, willing it to go away.

I've barely had my eyes shut for two minutes when I feel my shoulder being shaken softly. My lashes flutter open to see Giles peering down at me, a fresh glass of water in one hand and two more horse tranquilizer sized pills in the other. "Here, Buffy, take these." He hands me the pills and I shift over onto my elbow, propping myself halfway up so I can take the water, too. I glance down at the giant pills, then back up to my Watcher with a skeptical eyebrow raise. He nods. "They likely won't do much for the fever, especially if it is drug induced." He frowns as I shiver violently and wince again. "But it'll take the aching in your muscles and your head away."

"Pain killers?" I ask him, popping them in my mouth and bringing the water up to my lips, tilting the glass back and forcing the pills down.

Giles nods again, his eyes still worried as they scan over my face. "Nothing too strong, but they'll help you get some rest. Now," he stands up and takes the glass from me, turning around to look at Spike who's still seated, straddling the back of the wooden chair casually. "I trust the two of you can remain civil long enough for me to fix dinner?"

Neither Spike or I answer him, opting instead to give my Watcher what I'm pretty sure are twin looks of disinterest. Even if I felt like being Bitchy Buffy, which I honestly just don't, I don't have the energy to not be civil with Spike right now. Even just thinking about it requires more effort than I'm willing to give.

Giles just sighs and murmurs "I'll take that as a yes" before I hear him turn and walk away from the couch, and a moment later I hear familiar kitchen noises. Cabinets opening and closing, dishes being placed on the counter, the tap being turned on in the sink. I settle more deeply into the couch with the intention of napping, hoping the pain pills Giles gave me will start to take affect sooner rather than later, but I can't get comfortable. I'm restless. Even with the aching in my muscles, the thudding in my head, knowing that the stupid commando's and their stupid drug has me stuck here, despite what Giles has tried to assure me, _completely_ useless. I keep my eyes squeezed shut, carefully avoiding the twinkling indigo gaze I can practically feel burning into me as I toss and turn for the next ten or so minutes, fighting to find a position, _any_ position, on the couch that's nap compatible. When it finally becomes clear to me that I'm not going to find one, I roll over onto my back and sigh, letting my eyes pop open. "This _sucks_."

Beside me, Spike chuckles. I shift my eyes toward him for the first time since actively deciding not to look at him, and almost immediately wish I hadn't. He's smirking at me, his chair angled toward the couch, arms still folded across the back of it. He tilts his head to the side, blinking long lashes at me and looking so stupidly comfortable that all I want to do is punch him in the nose.

"Bein' a little dramatic, don't you think?" he asks me, very obviously amused by my discomfort.

The cherry on top of this crappy sundae.

"Oh, what do you know?" I snap too loudly, making the ache behind my eyes flare sharply. I wince, closing my eyes again and reaching my hand up to press at the pressure just above the bridge of my nose.

Spike scoffs, a noise somewhere between a legitimate laugh and a snarl. "Think I know quite a bit 'bout suckin', thank you."

I open my eyes again, turning my head and leveling the still-smirking vampire with a patented narrow eyed, pursed lip " _Ew_ ".

Spike just shakes his head, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. "Don't know why you're complainin' about lyin' on the sofa and havin' people cater to you, is all." His eyes meet mine again and he tilts his head to the side, still eyeing me warily, raising an eyebrow. "Should think you'd be glad for the break. Slayer's don't typically get much time off."

I gape at him, rolling over onto my side again and blinking dumbly. I notice that the muscles in my neck and back don't ache quite as much this time when I do. Thank God for small favors. "Time off?" I ask, brow furrowing as I look at the vampire across from me. "Spike, I'm practically bed ridden." I pause, frowning. "Couch ridden." Another brief pause, then I shake my head. Again, it doesn't hurt quite as much anymore. "Whatever, the point is this isn't exactly my idea of a primo vacation."

"Maybe not," Spike concedes, rolling his shoulders back and settling further down into his chair, lifting one hand off the back and pointing a finger at me. "But you'd be doin' yourself a bloody favor if you'd just sit back and enjoy it while it lasts."

I frown at him, pausing to think about that before responding. There's a little place in the back of my slowly non-achy head that tells me the bleached vampire might actually have a point somewhere in there, but it's actively pushed aside by the much bigger part of my brain that tells me Spike is _Spike_ and that means he can't ever be right. So I ignore that place in the back of my head and roll my eyes instead, murmuring "Easy for you to say, mister able to walk around the apartment…guy."

And I frown as soon as the words leave my lips and wonder if Giles's pain pills could be doing more than just making my aches and pains go away.

"Whatever, Slayer," the vampire laughs, and the sound is just an eensy bit bitter. He glances away from me, back behind me and in the direction of bustling kitchen. "At least you know you can likely reverse whatever the hell it is those wankers did to you."

There's a pause between us as the vampire continues to stare over my head, blue eyes narrowed and his cheeks slightly hollowed. Thinking over what he's said and the way he's said it. I frown.

"Are you saying you don't think what they did to you can be reversed?" I ask, feeling the medicine really starting to take effect now. Leeching slowly through my muscles, loosening them, smoothing away all the tension and the throbbing in its path as it goes and leaving everything feeling pleasantly jello-like. Not the same jello-y my legs had been that day in the crypt, but more…gooey. Like I could sink down into the couch cushion and disappear.

Spike's eyes meet mine again, and I'm struck once more by the blue. All the different shades of blue that seem to be fluttering and swirling around in his irises as he looks at me, widening them and raising both eyebrows skeptically. "You sayin' you _want_ to reverse it?" He asks, taking my question and flipping it on its head. His lips quirk into a knowing smirk again, that little I have a secret but I'm not telling expression covering his features. "'S the only sodding reason you're still alive, Slayer."

"Well, I mean…" I trail off, frowning and trying to sort of wrap my head around that. It isn't fuzzy or hazed out from the fever anymore, but things still feel a little distant. Not quite 10,000 BC beer distant, but closer to that than the feverish fog from before. "No. When you put it like that." I frown again, shifting slightly again on the couch so I'm half propped up on my elbow. "But I thought that was part of the deal?" I gesture absently toward myself. "You with the wiggy saving of me." Then back toward Spike. My fingers are tingly. "And us with the equally wig worthy helping of you."

Spike laughs, and again I can't tell if it's a real, I think that's funny laugh, or more of a I wish I could kill you all kind of laugh. When he speaks, his voice is low, and his words don't do much to help clear the laugh up, either. "You and me both, pet." He tilts his chin toward the kitchen and again and drops his voice low. "Guess Nancy boy over there has other ideas."

I nod, thinking it over, wondering if maybe that's what Giles and Spike had been arguing over when I'd purposefully decided to tune them out. Truthfully, when I think about it, I'm a little surprised that Spike seems to be surprised that Giles would be less than jazzed about helping him get rid of whatever it is the commando's did to him. The thing that's keeping him from hurting humans. More specifically, from hurting _me_ , since that seems to have been the bleached blonde's ultimate driving force from the moment we first laid eyes on each other in that alley, behind The Bronze.

 _I run the stake through the vamp's heart, moving out of the way as he explodes into dust in front of me. I brush a little off the shoulder of my jacket and turn to go. A hollow sound fills the alleyway. A slow clap, coming from somewhere behind me and to my right, from the shadows. I turn back around on instinct, tingles shooting down my spine. I see the blonde hair first. Bleached, unnaturally white, slicked back. Leather from head to toe. Gleaming eyes, pouty lips curved up in a devastating little smile as he drops his hands down to his sides. "Nice work, luv."_

 _I blink at the stranger, frowning. "Who're you?"_

 _The knowing smile curves wider, quirking up higher on one side until it's more smirk than smile. The eyes flash again. Everything about this stranger's body language screams predator. Spike. That's what the other vamp had called him._

Fitting.

 _The bleached blonde, Spike, tilts his head slightly to the side and sweeps his eyes down to my toes slowly before glancing back up. "You'll find out on Saturday."_

 _"_ _What happens on Saturday?" I ask, instinctively taking a step back, closer to the door that leads back into The Bronze. Every inch of my skin, every muscle in my body is tensed, on alert._

 _The smirk fades away entirely, leaving behind hollowed, impossibly sharp cheeks and pursed lips. He tilts his head back slightly, angling his chin so that he's looking down his nose at me. My blood runs cold._

 _"_ _I kill you," he says simply._

 _And right now, in this moment, I believe him._

I'm not sure I realize quite how long it's been since I've spoken until Spike clears his throat, bringing me full tilt out of my memories and back into the present. The present which sees this fierce predator, this single-minded enemy of mine seated casually across from me inside my Watcher's living room while said Watcher cooks dinner, one dark eyebrow raised, waiting expectantly for me to continue the conversation we'd been having.

God, if I could go back and tell sixteen-year-old me about this moment right now, I don't know whether she'd laugh or punch me in the face.

"Those other ideas Giles has?" I ask, shifting on the couch once more, letting my elbow straighten out until I'm resting my swimmy head on the pillow again. "Probably have to do with keeping me alive." At the vampire's confused expression, I laugh. It sounds funny to my ears, like it's too high or something. "You know what I'm talking about," I tell him. "This isn't exactly our first time around the bizarro merry-go-round that is a Buffy and Spike truce."

He just stares at me, but I can see his lips twitching, like they want to curve up into a smile but the vampire doesn't want to let them. "Think that fever's startin' to melt your brain, Slayer."

But he's wrong. If anything is doing any brain melting, it's this medicine, not the fever. Or maybe both. A combination. Either way, he's wrong, as he should be. I shake my head, stretching my neck out as I do. "We both know how truces between us work," I explain simply, thinking back to our first one. The one against Angelus. The one where he'd taken off in the middle of the fight, and the one I've reminded him of once before already. "Remember last time? That whole thousand gallons of you leaving me for dead thing?"

"Right," Spike says flatly, but not like he's agreeing with me. More like he's humoring me. His voice is low and deep and doing that rumbly thing again.

"And then _last_ year," I continue, on a little bit of a roll now and for some reason virtually unable to keep the words from coming out. Nothing hurts at all anymore, which is nice, even though my fingers still feel tingly. "With Angel and I and the keeping you from being dusted by the Mayor's pet vamps because _you_ were too drunk to defend yourself."

Spike frowns deeply at me, his brows knitting together over his forehead and no longer looking overly amused. "'S not _exactly_ the way I remember it–"

" _Boom_ ," I say, ignoring his response and pushing full steam ahead. For some inexplicable reason feeling like all of this just really _needs_ to be said. "Right back to trying to kill me six months later."

"You got a point here, luv?" the vampire asks me, raising a freshly skeptical eyebrow and sighing, even though he doesn't need to. The breathing thing again. I find my eyes shooting to his shoulders, watching them move steadily up and down as he takes in another deep breath and lets it out.

Point. I had one.

What was my point?

 _Oh, right._ "Just that Giles knows as well as we do how this working together business usually ends up," I say by way of explanation, watching as the humor seems to return to Spike's eyes as he watches me and nods.

"Right, well," he says slowly, drawing the words out and letting his tell-tale smirk start to curl the right side of his lips. "Don't think I'll be needin' the old man's help in that department anyway. Think I got it figured." He shifts a little closer to me, chair and all, leaning forward onto his arms and lowering his voice like he's about to tell me a secret. "If 's not a spell they put on you, more'n likely 's not a spell they put on me."

We stare at each other for a moment, nearly eye to eye, before I finally take a deep breath and ask in a loud, almost stage whisper, "You think they dosed you, too?"

"Dunno exactly," he says, shrugging and leaning back slightly away from me. "Just figure s' probably somethin' less magical and more…"

"Commando-y?" I supply for him, thinking it makes perfect sense even as I say it and half register how silly it sounds out loud.

"Stand by what I said 'bout your brain bein' fried," Spike murmurs, more than a little twinge of humor coloring his voice when he does.

I scoff, rolling my eyes and turning over onto my back again. "My brain is _so_ not fried," I insist, knowing it's probably a lie and not really finding it in me to care.

And again, I can hear the smirk in his voice when he says it. "Like a bloody egg."

"You try having a 106 degree fever for three days," I tell him glibly, staring up at the ceiling, noticing for the first time all the different patterns in the lines of white plaster. I fight the urge to raise my tingling fingers up and trace the patterns in the air. "See how egg-like your brain is."

"You know, you're a right bit nicer to be around like this," Spike says, chuckling again. It's the only word for that sound he makes. All warm and throaty and deep. The chuckle goes with the smirk, I think. They both sort have that whole _I know something you don't know_ vibe going for them. "Maybe we oughtta just keep you doped up, Slayer."

This has me frowning, tearing my gaze away from the ceiling patterns and twisting back over on to my side so I can fix Spike with a hard look. "Why do you do that?" I ask, suddenly and overwhelmingly curious. Like the question might burn a literal hole in my skull if I don't get it out, don't ask it right now.

Spike, for his part, looks completely confused. "Do what?"

I roll my eyes, instantly annoyed with him because it should obviously be obvious. "Call me Slayer," I clarify slowly, drawing the words out for him as I meet his azure eyes again with mine. Then I pause, thinking it over again and wrinkling my nose up. "I don't call you _vampire_."

It's something that's always kind of bothered me. Well, partly bothered me and partly flattered me. It isn't like Spike's the only vampire I've ever come across to call me by my title. Lots do. Actually, most do, unless they're one of younger ones who hadn't had a sire that had bothered to stick around and explain to them what the Slayer is and why to stay away from her. So I guess that's not what bothers me, him calling me my title. It's more that it's… _him_ calling me my title.

That makes sense, right? I mean I've known the vamp for two years. We've tried to kill each other enough times. Hell, we've worked _together_ enough times. Even if he does want me dead…I mean, I want him dust and I still manage to call _him_ by his stupid name.

And it is. God, it's such a _stupid_ name.

Fitting, though. I still stand by that. Not because it's stupid, but more because it's…mysterious. And dangerous sounding. And sexy.

 _Whoa._

I freeze on the couch, eyes going impossibly wide as I run back through that last train of thought and try and shove it far, far away from me in the process. Mentally erase it. Send up a giant prayer to the PTB that I didn't accidentally say it out loud.

Because nope. Not going there. _Never_ going there.

And Spike's talking, answering my question, so I'm guessing I haven't completely lost my mind and said anything I've just thought out loud.

" _Vampire_ isn't distinguishing," he says simply, giving a small shrug of his shoulders and tilting his head to the side. " _Slayer_ is. Sides all that, it's what you are."

This strikes a chord with me, my swishy, medicine addled brain already moving on from its momentary lapse and pushing forward. I frown, angling myself further onto my side and back up onto my elbow again. "Not right now," I say, more actually repeating what it is Spike had said earlier tonight than I am saying it on my own.

"Again, not sure I'm followin'," Spike says, narrowing his eyes on me.

"You're the one who said it," I say simply, again, a little irrational irritated that he doesn't seem to remember something he said an hour ago. "That I'm not really the Slayer right now? None of my Slayery…" I trail off, gesturing absently down the length of my body with my free hand to indicate the strength and the speed and the healing. "… _stuff_ is working." I look back up and meet his eyes, which are glued to mine. I sigh. "I'm on a fever-forced vacation from being the Slayer."

And I see it on his face, the way his eyes sort of shimmer and the corners of his lips curve slightly upwards, that he understand what I'm saying now. He nods his head, shifting further back on his chair and stretching his arms out the same way he'd done earlier. Behind us, the sounds of bubbling water and dishes clinging and maybe a metal spoon on a metal pan drown out our low conversation.

"So you are," the vampire agrees finally, the scarred brow still raised but more amused now than skeptical. Like he's just discovered some now game and he's playing along. Or maybe like I'm a little kid, and he's verbally patting me on the head. I can't decide which it is, but neither one really sits well with me. "What should I call you then?" he asks. "You aren't a fan of _luv_ , I know that. Don't think you're particularly fond of _pet_ , either—"

"Buffy," I say simply, watching as a look of what has to be just complete and total horror steals over his face.

There's a long pause, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. Thinking it over. Probably playing the last couple of sentences over again in his head, if the deeply furrowed brow is as dead a giveaway as I think it might be. Then, after the pause has just stretched to this side of awkward, he asks "What's that now?"

"Buffy," I repeat, my voice still low as I stare at him, raising an eyebrow. "My name?" Then I pause, frowning as I realize something I don't think I've actually thought about before. "You _do_ know that's my name, right?"

This seems to jar the vampire out of whatever faraway place he'd been, because she shakes his head, shifting further back away from me on his seat. "Well, yeah," he says slowly, like he's still working through it. "But—"

"So call me that," I say, shrugging and leaning further onto my elbow, not sure what the massive deal with any of this is, or why he's staring at me now like I've sprouted a second head and its singing show tunes. I mean, it's just a name. Isn't it?

And through all this I'm only distantly aware that I'd never, ever, not in a million years ask Spike to call me by my name if it weren't for the haziness and the gooeyness and the delightful floating sensation that's making its way through my body at the moment.

So when Spike sucks in a deep breath and lets it out through pursed lips before saying "No", I'm a little surprised at how the word sort of actually stings a little. Which I'm not going to think about now.

I blink at him. "No?"

He nods, and says it again. "No." For a moment I think that's all he's going to say, but he surprises me by reaching a hand up and cupping the back of his neck, glancing away from me. His jaw clenches, lips pursing, and I swear I can just make out a few choice words or two under his breath before he sighs and starts to talk. "Know we're workin' together for now. Got ourselves a truce and what all. But you were right, before." And his eyes find mine again, pinning me to the spot. "Knowin' how these things always end up. Can't call you… _that_." He pulls one hand off the back of the chair and presses it to his chest. "Still a vampire, yeah?"

And sure, he's probably right. I know that. That even right now, with me all whacked out and fevery and Spike being neutered that we still are what we are. Vampire and Slayer. Natural born enemies, opponents who just happen to have a common adversary for the time being. The truce will go away once we've found a way to deal with the commando's, and we'll be right back to trying to kill each other. The logical part of my brain knows it.

But it isn't the logical part of my brain that's running my mouth right now.

"Still _sort of_ a vampire," I hear myself say, watching as Spike blinks at me and his eyes narrow. I shrug. "I mean, you can't _bite_ anyone," I explain. Then, remembering what he'd told Giles, "You can't even hit anyone."

His eyes flash and he leans in toward me, dropping his voice to a low, menacing growl. "Still, _vampire_." He cocks his head to the side in challenge. "Still drink blood."

"Pig's blood," I half correct him automatically, narrowing my eyes and cocking my own head to the side to mirror him. "What's that make you, a vegetarian?"

Spike sputters indignantly at the word, shifting backwards so quickly that the wooden legs of the chair scrape loudly over the floor. "Bloody fuck, _no_ ," he insists, sitting ramrod straight in the chair and blinking at me with wide, sparkling eyes.

And he looks so freaked, so totally wigged out, that I can't help myself. I smirk at him, shrugging me own shoulders casually as I remember how indifferent and cold he'd been toward the commando experimenting on me thing. "Kind of."

Spike growls at me, leaning over the back of the chair. "This isn't by bloody choice," he hisses at me, reaching up to tap his temple with the pad of his pointer finger, indicating whatever it is that's been done to his head, the thing that's currently preventing him from biting humans.

"Neither is my couch-riddenness," I say, my voice equally forceful as I gesture down toward the slightly stiff green couch that's been my prison for the past three days. "Face it, bleach boy. You and I are in the same boat." I point back to myself before gesturing toward him again for emphasis. "If _me_ not having my strength and healing makes me not really the Slayer, then _you_ not being able to bite people makes you not really a vampire."

Spike opens his mouth to argue with me, pauses, lets his lips clamp closed again and finally, he sighs, shoulders sagging a little as he looks at me the way a very tired baby sitter might look at the five-year-old that just won't shut up about playing Candy Land. "You know that makes bugger all sense, right?" he asks me, that dark brow with the Y shaped scar arching high.

I nod my head, hardly noticing when my arm starts to slide back down the cushion, muscles going gooey again, and I sink back down onto the pillows. I reach a lazy, tingling hand up and tap my own temple now. "Fried-egg brain, remember? Plus, medicine." I drop my hand back down and wrinkle my nose up, a crease forming between my brows as I lower my voice conspiratorially. "I think this might be what getting high feels like."

Spike laughs first. Not that low chuckle, but a short, quick, _actual_ out loud laugh. And then he sighs, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling again. "Fine. I'll _play_." The word rolls off his tongue, that same low, rumbling purr as his gaze meets mine again. Then lower, under his breath. "Got nothin' better to do. What are we, according to that brain of yours, if we aren't _really_ the Slayer and a vampire?"

I pretend to think it over for a few seconds before I answer him. "Buffy and Spike?"

"Oh, bloody hell," the vampire groans, shaking his head and glancing away from me, over my head toward the front door. "You're not goin' to let this go." It isn't a question.

"Nope," I say, giving the "P" a little extra oomph and shaking my head. "Not until I'm all Slayery again." Which, technically, could be as soon as tomorrow, though I don't feel the need to remind the vampire about that.

"Fine then," he says slowly, the words leaving his lips on a sigh. He eyes me cautiously, our gazes locked when he clears his throat and rolls his shoulders back. " _Buffy_."

I don't know what I'm more surprised by, the way my name sounds when he says it, or the sort of weird, twisty, gut reaction I have to the _way_ it sounds. Maybe both, for different reasons. And I know my eyes are wide now, blinking, lashes fluttering rapidly. For a second I just lay on the couch, cheek pressed into the pillow, staring at the bleached blonde across from me and having no idea, no idea at _all_ , what to say. I feel like I can't look away from him. There's a long pause, an extended, awkwardly silent moment between us that somehow, for whatever reason, feels more majorly off than any other majorly off moment so far. And there've been a few.

I take a deep breath in, hold it for a moment, let it out slowly. Then, wrinkling my nose up again, "It's weird, isn't it?"

"Bloody right it is," Spike agrees instantly, but he doesn't look away from me either.

And it's funny, and more than large with the giving me the wiggins, but I get the feeling neither of us are just talking about the name thing.


	7. Chapter 7

_No good can come of this._

It's what I'm thinkin' now, what I'd been thinkin' when she came up with the barmy idea in the first place. What exactly does she think it's goin' to accomplish anyway, save for further confuse this already cocked up little truce we have goin'. Said it herself not five minutes ago. We both know how these things with us end. We make a plan, she follows through, I get what I need out of it and I'm off. Back here and ready to tear the bitch's throat out not six months later. Aside from that, her logic makes even less sense than usual. Like we suddenly aren't what we are, just because we…aren't what we are.

Well fine, when I think about it like that I guess I can see a smidge of where it is she's comin' from, but that _doesn't_ change the fact that this truce is just that. A truce. A limited time engagement. 'It's not a ruddy friendship, not a sodding peace treaty, not a buddy cop show. Things are twisted up enough as it is without gettin' names and titles and roles confused.

 _Buffy_.

I've only said the name out loud once or twice in the years I've known the girl, and neither of them were in what I'd call flattering scenarios. Besides the fact that it's just plain bloody wrong, and I'm certain it goes against that silly vampiric code old Batface cooked up for us all those centuries ago, it's a terrible name. Buffy. Christ, it's the most ridiculous name I've ever heard in my unlife. What's it supposed to even _mean_? Is it short for somethin' else? Not that it doesn't suit the chit, because it does. Stupid name for a stupid bint. All fluffy and peppy and light. Very new agey, southern California, which I fuckin' _hate._

It's entirely too _…_ _.sunny._ My eyes scan her face, trail over her tangle of golden hair. _And warm._ Down, across her flushed, red-tinged cheeks. Finally falling to her lips.

 _And soft..._

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Oh, bloody hell.

Blinkin' furiously, I shake my head, shift until my back is pressed into the wooden chair. Clearin' my throat. "Like what?" I ask, crossin' my arms over my chest. Forcing the muscles in my jaw to relax, face going impassive. Hopefully unreadable. "I'm not lookin' at you like anythin'."

The Slayer frowns at me, shiftin' her position on the sofa so she's fully facing me. "No, you are," she insists, narrowin' fever brightened eyes. "You have this bizzaro, day-dreamy look on your face."

 _Bugger._

I sneer at her, wipin' every last sodding trace of whatever look the drugged-out bint had _thought_ she'd seen off my face and say, "Funny that, so do you. Why don't you do us both a favor and close those eyes of yours, try and get some rest." Not that I give a shit one way or the other, whether or not she gets the rest her body obviously needs. But this Buffy and Spike bein' best mates thing she's got wedged up in that tiny brain of hers is startin' to get old real fast, and I'm not about to up and leave now. Not when I know those soldier boys are out there probably just waitin' for a chance to snatch me back up.

I wonder if the meds the Watcher gave her will eventually make her pass out.

"But I don't want to," she says, her voice small, mouth turned down in a deep frown. I didn't think it was possible, but she might actually be more stubborn stoned than she is sober. And that is sayin' something.

Sighing, not willin' to stoop so low as to argue with a mentally incapacitated slayer, I settle back deeper into my chair and glance away from her. "What do you want then?"

Her immediate response: "I wanna talk."

"Well," I tell her slowly, dragging the word out as my jaw clenches, "I don't wanna listen."

"Well, that's rude." And I can hear the pout in her voice, can picture the jut of her lower lip even without lookin'.

I turn my eyes back to the Slayer and fix her with a look, cock an eyebrow. "Did you forget who you were talkin' to?"

Her bright eyes search mine for a moment before she finally nods, sinkin' back further into the cushions of the sofa. Brow furrowed, voice small, she says, "For a second I kind of think I did."

And she means it. Is bein' entirely honest about it. Which throws me for one hell of a bloody loop, because an honest answer hadn't been at all what I'd expected from her. Whatever medicine it is Giles has her on is doin' wonders for that priggish sort of denial she's usually got wrapped 'round herself.

Sighing again, droppin' my arms down to my sides, I lean forward. "Look, Slayer—"

"Buffy," she says instantly, cuttin' me off mid thought.

I freeze, forearms braced over the tops of my thighs, and blink at her. " _What_?"

She rolls her eyes. She, rolls her eyes, at _me_. Like _I'm_ the one who's high off pain meds and actin' like a bloody lunatic. "We agreed," she reminds me, soundin' exasperated. "Me, Buffy. You, Spike." She arches an expectant brow. "Remember?"

Eyes flashin', I lower my voice. "What I _remember_ is you tellin' me it was weird not two minutes ago."

And I watch as she rolls her eyes at me. _Again_.

"Well, yeah. It was. Weird, that is." Then she pauses, eyes locked on mine, and frowns. Like she's thinkin' real damn hard about somethin'. "But not…bad weird." She says it like the idea confuses her. Which I'm guessin' right now, most ideas confuse her.

And starin' at her, I can't keep my lips from curving up at that. Slayer might be the single most irritatin' chit I've ever had this displeasure of meetin', but she's never short of entertaining. "Wasn't aware there was another kind of weird other than bad," I say, turnin' my attention down to my hands, starting to pick and peel some of the black laquer off my nails.

"Sure there is," she says breezily, sounding a little more zonked out by the minute. "There's…bad weird, and good weird. And not completely unpleasant weird. And spine tingly weird. And—"

"And which weird was this?" I ask, cuttin' her off, lookin' up at her through my lashes.

Eyes suddenly glued to mine, she swallows. Says, "I…don't know yet." Then a moment later, lowerin' her voice conspiratorially, like she doesn't want Giles to hear her, "But I think it might've been goose bumpy weird."

I blink at her, eyes goin' wide. Caught off guard a bit, I check my surprise and cover with a twist of my lips. A sarcastic chuckle. "Right."

"Right," the Slayer repeats me. Pauses, frowns again. Looks at me like she's tryin' real hard to figure something. "Wait, are you telling me I'm right or are you doing that snarky, sarcastic Spike thing."

"You can't tell?" I ask.

She just shakes her head, pressin' her cheek further into the pillow below her as she does. "I wasn't watching your eyebrows that time," she explains simply, brow pinched and furrowed. "Your eyebrows are usually the giveaway."

If this little exchange between us is a game to see who can be the most surprisin', I'd say the Slayer's got me beat. "My...eyebrows," I drawl in disbelief, tilting my head down.

"Yeah," she says quickly, reachin' one shaky hand up to point at my deeply furrowed brow. "See, like that." She drops her hand back down with a smack and tells me, "You have like _way_ expressive eyebrows."

My lips quirk automatically up into a grin at that, which I quickly adjust back down into a smirk. Keepin' it wry and sarcastic instead of genuinely amused. Amused is just a little too bloody close to affectionate, and that is somethin' I can't afford. Not even for a split second. First she's wantin' me to call her Buffy, then she's doin' and sayin' all these things that are just so fucking, disgustingly... _endearing_. It's startin' to make my head hurt.

Jesus. I think I need to kill something.

"You're high," I tell her deliberately, leanin' back in my chair to gain a little extra distance between us. I can still smell the fever on her skin, the way it heats up her blood and fills the whole sodding room with a fragrance that makes my mouth water and my throat burn.

The Slayer, unfazed, just nods. "I know. I told you I was."

Blunt. Honest. No trace of her usual holier than thou attitude, not one crumb of that prudish sense of denial I've come to loathe so entirely.

My lips twitch. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

"So this then?" I ask slowly, lettin' my eyes search hers. "Me callin' you…by your name, and the natterin' away like we're old pals and you noticin' my eyebrows." Her lips twitch into a small smile at that, and I have to fight harder than I feel comfortable with to keep mine from doin' the same. "This goes away once you're all sobered up?"

"I don't know," she says, bitin' down on her smiling lower lip as though thinkin' real hard. Then she shrugs. "Maybe?"

"Gonna have to do better than maybe, pet, if you want me to play along." If you want me to be _able_ to play along.

Narrowin' her eyes like she's concentrating, wrinklin' her nose up, she amends, "Definitely?"

I consider her for a moment, then shrug. "Good enough for me." I lean back, start chippin' away at the black polish on my right thumb nail and say, "With you talkin' so much least ways tonight won't be so sodding boring."

"That's sweet," she says, flutterin' dark lashes against her bright pink cheeks.

That word has me stoppin', freezing in place. _Sweet._ That word comin' from the Slayer's lips, in reference to me, and not in a way that could even be remotely considered sarcastic. I frown at her, suddenly wary. " _What's_ sweet?"

She just smiles goofily at me, adjustin' her position on the pillows again. "You'd rather talk to my high self than sit here all night in silence."

Scoffin', I shake my head. "That's not _sweet_ ," I tell her pointedly. "That's bloody common sense, Buffy."

Her name is out there. Off my lips, rollin' off the tip of my tongue before I can think twice about it. Just as bloody freakish this time 'round as it was the first.

"Mmm, yep," she sighs, smirkin' playfully at me. "Definitely goose bumpy weird."

And there's somethin' different in her eyes now as she looks at me. Not just bright with the fever anymore, but luminous, twinklin' with a sort of wry humor I don't think I've ever seen from her before. Leastways never directed at me. _For_ me.

My inner William blushes at the look on her face, and I nip that in the bud right quick before it has a chance to take root and spread.

 _Christ._

"Oi, Rupert," I call out, tearin' my eyes away from hers and over her head toward the kitchen. Giles pauses whatever he's doin' and turns to glance at me. "How long is this 'medicine' of yours s'posed to last? Slayer's high as a bloody kite."

There's an annoyed little sigh from across from me, and I drop my gaze back down to the pile of tiny blonde on the sofa. Now sittin' up, her knees curled up against her chest and the blanket pulled up to her chin, she's givin' me a look like I'm the biggest sodding git she's ever seen.

" _Buffy's_ high as a bloody kite," she corrects me snippily, the sour look on her face marred just a touch by a little shiver that courses through her body. " _Buffy_."

I groan, throwin' my head back against the top of my chair and shutting my eyes.

It's not just the medicine the Watcher'd given her, I start to realize, but the combination of the medicine and the fever and more'n likely the drugs _causin'_ the fever that's makes the Slayer so loopy. Everybody handles this type of sickness differently, I know that. Some people hallucinate, others have fever dreams. Others pass out and sleep it off.

The Slayer gets cabbaged out of her sodding gourd and doesn't stop _talkin'._

All through her dinner, which she'd hardly touched despite Giles tellin' her more than once she's supposed to feed her fever because the silly bint has the survival instincts of a goddamn gnat, she'd prattled on about this, that and the other. Half the time it'd been complete and utter nonsense. The other half, so mind numbingly inane that it might as well have been gibberish. At one point, she'd turned to her Watcher and made some vague reference to somethin' she'd called "band candy". 'Course I'd had no buggering clue what she was on about, but Giles had given her a patented look of disapproval, gotten real quiet and excused himself to bed not five minutes later. When I'd asked the Slayer about it, she'd just sat there and looked at me, opened her mouth to respond, then promptly dissolved into a fit of giggles.

And the look on her face, the bright smile and the wrinkled nose and the way she'd kicked her feet, had made me want to laugh along with her. Which had in turn made me feel sick to my pig's blood full stomach.

Hours later, and I'm just beginnin' to think I was way off base. Off my sodding _nut_ to think this might be preferable to another night spent in silence, when she suddenly stops yammerin' for two seconds.

"Spike," she says, and I shift my eyes over to hers.

She's shifted toward me, rolled over onto her side, curled up in a fetal position. And she's starin' at me with wide eyes. Fever glazed, luminous in the moonlight filterin' in through the curtains. Her pupils are dilated further than before. Intensely focused, more lucid than they've appeared in hours. And the look on her face, single minded concentration, like she might be able to crawl inside my head and read all my darkest, most perverse thoughts.

Really hope she can't actually, 'cause most of 'em are about her.

"Yeah?" I ask, suddenly findin' myself wishing for the non-stop talkin' again.

She shifts on the sofa, tiltin' her head to the side. She looks at me like she's thinkin' real hard about what it is she wants to say. Then, her voice all quiet-like, "Can I ask you a question?"

I keep my eyes on her face and lean back, stretchin' my arms up over my head. A not so subtle reminder to be mildly grateful to the girl sittin' across from me for not allowin' Giles to truss me up again. True, she'd only done it so she could have me act as her personal little lamp vamp, fetch her things when and if she needed 'em.

"You can ask me anythin' you like, pet," I tell her, droppin' my hands back down to my lap with a smack.

She makes a face at me, wrinklin' her nose up, no doubt thinkin' about the way this very same conversation went down just a little while earlier.

 _"_ _Can I ask you a question?"_

 _"_ _Sure."_

 _"_ _Why did Dru dump you?"_

 _"_ _Fever's done more than fry your brain if you think I'm gonna tell you that."_

 _"_ _But you said I could ask—."_

 _"_ _Never said I'd answer."_

"Will you _answer_ a question?" she asks me now, emphasizing the word with a tiny arch of her brow, showin' me she's wised up a bit since the first time round. Her lips are curved up on one side in what could almost be a smile, and I have to try harder than I'd like to admit to keep mine from doin' the same.

"Depends," I tell her flatly.

"On?" she prompts, the gleam in her eyes turnin' to a challenge.

I meet her gaze with mine and issue a challenge back, raisin' both of my "expressive" brows in the process. "On whether or not I sodding well feel like it."

Her eyes soften a little as she looks at me, and the little smile around her lips falls. Suddenly she's lookin' at me again with that spooky clarity, sort of a laser like focus. Like she's just realized somethin' she never has before. Silently askin' a question to herself, and whatever the answer is written all over my face.

Then, her voice still quiet, "This must really suck for you."

"What does?" I ask, squintin' at her. I wish she'd stop lookin' at me like that.

She sighs. Like she hadn't been expectin' me to ask, so she hasn't thought up an answer. "I don't know," she says finally, liftin' her head up so she's starin' me straight in the eyes. "This whole thing is majorly weird for me, so I'm just…guessing it's the same for you. Having to go veggie." She gestures to the empty mug that had held another serving of pig's blood about an hour ago. "Being stuck here, having the commandos after you. Having to ask me for help." She pauses, glances away from me and gives a tiny tilt of her head. " _Again_."

"Right then," I say quickly, puttin' an end to wherever the hell she thinks this little observation of hers is goin'. I tilt my head onto the back of my chair and close my eyes. Can't look at her anymore. Can't look at her lookin' at _me_ anymore. "Think that's quite enough analyzin' for one night."

Not takin' the hint, on a bit of a roll it seems, the Slayer continues, "I'm just saying, it can't be easy fo—"

"Christ, will you shut your gob for two _fucking_ seconds?" I growl loudly and cut her off, the words harsher than I'd expected them to be. Not that I care. Not that it matters _how_ I talk to the bint now. Just because we're in the midst of a cease-fire doesn't mean I have to be nice to her. I'm Spike. I'm William the goddman Bloody. I'm not _nice_ to anyone, least of all suddenly powerless Slayers that I'd be merrily drainin' dry right now if it weren't for whatever those sodding tin soldiers did to me.

More'n that, I just need her to stop for one bloody second. Stop tryin' to analyze me, or understand me, or whatever the fuck she was on about a second ago. Stop talkin', stop breathin', stop _lookin'_ at me like she's somehow seein' me for the very first time.

Because Jesus, it's too _much_.

There's silence in the room for a long time before she says anythin' else. And when she finally does say somethin', it's in a voice that's barely more'n a whisper. Doubt I'd have noticed it at all if I had average hearing.

"Sorry."

There're a million different bloody thing she could've said, and she chose the one, the _one_ , that manages to make me feel like a complete wanker. Even though I know it's just the fever talking. Juts the drugs in her system and not her, not really her, it doesn't seem to matter all that much. Doesn't matter how insincere it might be. Dru used to fill my head with false words and sweet whispered apologies all day long, it never mattered how disingenuous. A woman apologizes, and it he poofterish side of me comes out swingin'.

 _Bloody, buggering..._ Sighing loudly, I open my eyes again and sit up straight, lowerin' my head so that it's close to eye level with hers. "What was your question?"

She's not lookin' at me anymore, thank God. Her eyes are down on her knees, curled in on herself, twisting the blanket in her hands. She looks so unbelievably small. So unlike the Slayer I've come to know. Err, not _know_ , maybe. But expect. Honestly feel like I'm only just now startin' to get to know her, the drugs and the fever in her system allowin' her to open up to me in a way I know she never would've dreamed of before.

Funny that, how things that alter your state of mind a lotta times make you more open and honest with yourself.

Her eyes still down, she shakes her head, says, "It's not important."

I sigh and nod my head in agreement. "Oh, I'm sure it's not, but that hasn't stopped you before."

Gleaming green eyes flicker to mine briefly before droppin' to her knees again. "I'm annoying you," she says, voice small. Like a child, I realize. That's what she's remindin' me of. Probably the reason why it's bugging me so bloody much, the fact that my harsh words have bothered her. She's weak and sickly and it's bringing back all kinds of memories of Dru. Makin' me act in ways I haven't acted since Dru left.

Shovin' that particular thought away, because getting' to a place where I'm suddenly comparin' the tiny blonde in front of me to my black goddess is a place I'm in _no_ hurry to be, I cock my head to the side and appraise the Slayer.

"Since when do you give a damn 'bout what annoys me?" I ask, watchin' as her lashes flutter against her flushed cheeks and she lifts her head up, eyes findin' mine again. I raise a skeptical brow. "Your very _existence_ annoys me and yet, here you are. Don't see you tryin' to off yourself on my account."

Her eyes flash, and her mouth falls open. Oh right, like she's so _surprised_ I'd say somethin' like that?

"God, you're such a jerk." But now she's almost laughing.

"Question?" I prompt again, now she seems to be over it.

Another beat, a loud silence. Then, "It's about Angelus."

Right. Not what I'd been expectin'. Her careful use of the name lets me know she isn't talkin' about the poncy, souled-up version she spent her high school career pinin' after, either.

Cautious, curiosity admittedly piqued, I ask, "What about him?"

She shifts on the sofa, sittin' up straight and droppin' her legs down over the edge. Her blanket slips away from her bare skin and she shivers, scramblin' to cover herself back up again. "When he…I mean, when the four of you were…" She trails off, searching for the right words before finally settling on, "How bad was he?"

"What you askin' me for?" I ask hesitantly, dragging my eyes up and away from her legs, back to her face. "You met him."

The Slayer nods once, pulls her lower lip into her mouth and nibbles down on it. "No, I know. But that was after." She tears her eyes from mine, still worryin' that lip with her teeth. "After I…"

"Shagged that self-righteous, Slayer lovin' soul right out of him?" I ask, flutterin' my lashes, eyes wide and falsely innocent.

That has her whippin' those eyes back to me, narrowin' into a glare. It's a relief, honestly, to see her actin' a little closer to her old bitchy self. "You're kind of an asshole."

"Also kind of dead on, aren't I?" I goad her, undaunted by the fire blazin' in her eyes now.

She doesn't respond to that, doesn't acknowledge that I've hit the nail on the head. Instead, she lets her shoulders sink down into the back of the sofa, starts to kick her legs back and forth over the edge of the sofa. "Was he…I mean, was _Angelus_ different…the second time around?"

I frown at her, shake my head. That doesn't give me a whole hell of a lot to go on. "Different meaning…?"

Her eyes find mine, and she swallows. "Meaning worse."

 _Oh_.

Slowly startin' to understand, I inhale an unneeded breath through my nose, let it out again through pursed lips. "Didn't ever spend that much time with him, to be honest. Only twenty years or so before he got that soul lodged up his ass and scarpered off." I sigh, watchin' the way her eyes are fixed to me as I'm talkin'. "He was evil, pure and simple. Taught me everythin' I know, and then some." I give her a low, dark chuckle. "Bloody master of his craft."

"His craft?" she asks me, a little like she's afraid to know the answer. I can't imagine why. Surely the great poof told her all of this. Had to have.

I lean forward and get a little closer to her, lowerin' my voice to a smooth, silken purr. "The utter and absolute destruction of a human being, luv." My eyes trail over her face, lashes fannin' down, then back up. "That's what he got off on. 'S what he did to Dru. Did you not know?"

I can tell when I ask, by the way her eyes flash and she looks away from me, that she did know. So he had told her that much at least. I'm sure that was a tickle for them both. Self-righteous sod probably spent the entire time cryin' and wailin' over how miserable he feels about it all now. Bet it made him miserable, to have to tell his precious little Buffy all the horrible things he'd done before.

 _Good._

Wanker deserves to suffer for everythin' he did to her.

"I only know what he told me," she says softly, and her legs stop their fidgeting. She frowns, glances back up at me. "And that still doesn't answer my question."

Oh, right. Her actual question. I almost forgot.

"He was more…single minded the second time 'round." I look away from her, turn my attention back down to the lacquer on my nails. I rub at my left thumb with my right index finger absently. "Had a real yen to hurt you, but you already know that. Other than that, no." I flick my eyes to hers, shake my head. Wonderin' why in the bloody hell I suddenly have this feelin' in my gut, this need to dull whatever insecurity it is in her that's makin' her ask me this. "Wasn't any worse."

She takes this in, lets the words settle over her for a moment. Then she nods and says, "Thanks."

I stop fidgetin' with my nails, curious again. Wonderin' if I can get her to be honest with me for a second time. "Why'd you ask?"

And she just shrugs. "Never had anyone I could ask before."

"That the only reason?" I press, because I know it's not. She was worried Angelus was worse the second time 'round because the second time 'round she'd created him. She'd played Darla to his Liam, and she'd needed to know. If her sleepin' with him had unleashed a worse version of Angelus than before. Needed to know how much of her fault everythin' that had happened in those months following really was.

This wasn't about Angel, or Angelus, or anyone else for that matter. This was about _her_.

"The only reason I feel like telling you," she says simply, eyes never waverin' from mine.

My lips quirk up at the corners. Well, least she's bein' honest about that much.

"I see," I drawl, leanin' back once more, foldin' my arms over my chest. Because I do. Probably better than she'd like me to. "So it doesn't have anythin' to do with what happened with that little sod I saw you with on the quad, then."

"Oh, God." Her forehead creases deeply, eyes suddenly wide, mortified. "You _remember_ that?"

Kind of hard to forget.

"Well, I _was_ standin' outside in the middle of the bloody day, pet. After over a century of the dark that's not the sort of thing you easily forget." That fight had been a bloody glorious one, too. The heat of the sun beatin' down on us, the scent of her sweat and sweet, warm grass. She was made for the light, this girl. Golden and tan and glistening and…wait, what was the question? Oh. Right. "You honestly gonna sit there and tell me you only asked about unleashin' Angelus 'cause you've never had a chance to ask anyone before?"

"I h-had sex with him," she says suddenly, softly. I notice now how she carefully keeps her eyes away from mine. "With Parker, I mean. I…" she trails off, clearin' her throat awkwardly, and I know she'd never, never, be sittin' here tellin' me this is she weren't completely out of her mind with fever. "And then the next day…"

She doesn't finish that sentence, and she doesn't have to. I remember it clear as bloody day, anyway. The conversation I'd overheard them havin'. At the time I'd found it downright hysterical, how pathetically stricken she'd looked gettin' the brush off by the little boy. Now though…now, for a reason I can't even begin to imagine, can't explain, my jaw clenches tight. "And…what?" I ask, goin' for mocking and endin' up somewhere a mite closer to insulted. Not for my sake, but for hers. "You think that was a reflection on _you_?"

"I—" she begins automatically, eyes whippin' back to mine. Then she stops, closes her mouth. Looks at me a moment like she's makin' some kind of life or death decision. Then slowly, like she's settin' the stage for what's about to come next, she says, "I'm high."

She innit askin', she's tellin'.

Brow furrowed, I narrow my eyes and nod. "You're high."

The Slayer's still thinkin' about somethin'. I can see it on her face, the way she's nodding slowly. "I probably won't even remember this tomorrow," she reasons aloud, workin' through it in her head. Her tongue darts out to wet her dry lips and she rubs them together thoughtfully.

Distracted by her glistenin' mouth, I realize a half second later than I should have that she's waitin' on me for an answer, so I nod hurriedly and say, "No, I'd wager you probably won't."

It must have been the response she was lookin' for. Letting go of her bottom lip, she sighs, sinks back down into the cushions. Then, lookin' like it pains her to say the words out loud. "I think something's wrong with me because every guy I sleep with goes all evil."

I freeze for one long second, and we stare at each other, unblinking as I let that little gem hang in the air between us.

Then I burst into loud, uproarious laughter.

"Oh my _God_ ," she hisses at me. Sits up in an instant, too fast I'm guessin', because she winces and reaches up to brace a hand against her head. "It's not funny."

She's right, it's not.

"It's fuckin' _hilarious_ ," I amend the statement for her, tears springin' to my eyes. Think it's been ages since I've laughed this damn hard. I'm not even laughin' at her. Not really. More laughin' at how she so obviously believes it. That that sweet little Slayer pussy of hers somehow has the power to turn a bloke evil is…well, frankly, it's adorable. And laughably naïve. "Oh, bloody hell," I breathe, reachin' a hand up to wipe a stray tear away from my eye. " _That's_ what you've been sittin' over there workin' the nerve up for this whole time? That you're _that_ amazin' of a shag, you make good vamps go bad?"

Glarin' at me, puttin' the full force of all 95 pounds she has behind it, she mutters, "You're a pig, Spike."

Not very original, but I'll give the girl points for intent.

"Maybe," I concede with a nod, laughter finally settling down, fadin' into low chuckles. The look on her face is so deliciously horrified, red now from far more'n the fever. I can hear her blood pumpin' away from where I'm sittin', too. Nothin' gets this girl riled up like a good insult. I can smell it from here. "Doesn't make that theory of yours any less ridiculous."

"Well, what's so ridiculous about it?" She demands, shiftin' forward again on the sofa. She grips the edges of the cushion in both hands and leans as far forward as she can manage without fallin' over, lowering her voice meaningfully. "Both… _people_ I've been with have gone all with the big evil the next morning."

My ears perk up at that, missin' the next half of what she says for want of runnin' through that little tid bit of information. _Both_? Slayer's only been with two blokes? Don't know why the knowledge surprises me.

Furthermore, don't know why it makes my cock twitch.

I shake my head to clear it, tryin' my hardest to refocus on whatever it is the Slayer's sayin' now.

"…I slept with Angel and made him lose his soul. His _soul_. And Parker…" she trails off and frowns, thinkin' that one over again. "Well, okay, Parker didn't lose his soul or anything but—"

 _"_ _Parker_ ," I spit the name out with all the disdain I'm suddenly feelin' for the useless little ponce it belongs to, "is a whiney frat boy wannabe who probably couldn't find your sweet spot even if you drew him a bloody _map_." Her eyes go wide, and I realize a beat too late that I probably shouldn't have said anythin' at all about the Slayer's…sweet spot, lest I give away that I've suddenly found myself thinkin' about it. But I'm on a roll now, so what's the use in stoppin'? "Believe you me, no great loss there. And Angelus…he was a fluke. Bloody hell, that poofter's entire sodding _existence_ has been one giant fluke after another." And I widen my eyes a little so she knows that I'm serious when I say the next bit. "What he did to you, included."

Instantly on alert, the Slayer shakes her head and starts to defend the giant broodin' wanker instinctively. "He didn't do anything—"

"Oh, _please_. That's not true, and you sodding well know it," I say heatedly, cuttin' her off. We never seem to be able to let the other of us finish a damn sentence. At her wide-eyed expression, I scoff and roll my eyes, shake my head. If denial was an Olympic sport, Slayer'd medal every time. "My prancin' poof of a grandsire did one hell of a number on you, pet. And I'm _not_ talkin' about Angelus, either." Unfoldin' my arms, I lean forward in my chair again. Our faces are a hell of a lot closer together than they'd been a moment ago, but she doesn't back down, so I don't either. "He left you as gutted and damaged as any of his other victims, can tell you that right now."

Unfazed, eyes lookin' only the tiniest bit unsure as they gaze into mine, she says, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"No, I know _exactly_ what I'm talkin' about," I counter breezily, eyes rakin' over her face as I cock my head to the side. Taking in the set of her jaw, the tight line of her lips. The way she swallows hard when my eyes drop to her throat, mouth waterin' just a touch at the pulsin' jugular vein there. I bring my eyes to hers again and smirk. "Wouldn't be botherin' you so much if I didn't."

Her cheeks flood with color all over again and she snorts, a short burst of hot air out her stupid little upturned nose. For a moment I think she's about to argue with me, but then she shakes her head. "You know what, whatever." I watch as she leans back into the sofa, gatherin' the blanket up in her hands and smoothin' it over her legs again. "I'm not having this argument with you." She catches me with a jab of her finger before I can get a word in. "And the _only_ reason I'm not having this argument with you is because my head is still all fuzzy."

Still smirkin', I lean back and say, "Or _maybe_ it's because you know I'm right."

She doesn't say anythin' to that, just sits there glowerin' at me, so I take the win for what it is and hop up to my feet. Crossin' the room to where the Watcher'd hung my duster up on his coat rack beside the door, fishin' in the pocket for the pack of menthols I know I left there, and the Zippo too. Crackin' the front door open just enough to be able to lean round it, I tap a cigarette out of the pack and into my palm, stuff the pack into my pocket.

"Stop being all...insightful vamp," The Slayer tells me from her position on the sofa. She's lookin' toward the door now, craning her neck around so she can keep her eyes on me, waves a slightly shaky hand in my direction. "It's wiggy."

"Oh, _wiggy_ is it?" I chuckle, wedgin' the packed cigarette between my lips and lighting up, droppin' the lighter back into my jacket's pocket. "So sorry. Didn't realize you goody-two-shoes types were so opposed to the truth."

"You're telling me the truth now?" She asks, all wide-eyed and blinking and falsely surprised as she watches me take a drag. "That's funny."

I'm barely listnein' to her now, too caught up in my smoke. Oh, _Jesus_ , sweet nicotine. I lean my back against the open door jamb and let the smoke fill my lungs, hold it there, let the familiar buzzin' begin in my dead veins before exhaling again.

I crave this now almost as desperately as I do blood.

"I've always told you the truth," I tell her now, turnin' my eyes back to her. She pins me with two sky-high brows, and I exhale another slow stream of smoke out my nose. "What? 'S true." I point toward her with the hand that holds my cigarette. "I've been straight with you from word go."

"You mean when you showed up here and tried to kill me in a sneak attack on Parent Teacher Night?" she asks, eyebrows still high, eyes still wide.

Smirking, I turn back to my cigarette. Inhale, hold. Slow, curling exhale. "That wasn't dishonesty, that was impatience." I lower my voice to a grumble as I think about it, rollin' my eyes up to the ceiling. "A lesson I still haven't bloody learned, apparently."

"Like when you sneak attacked me in my dorm room and tried to kill me even after you knew I was sick and couldn't fight back?"

This has me narrowin' my eyes on her, watchin' the way her lips twitch up at the corners. "Let's not dredge up the past, yeah?" I drawl sarcastically around the cigarette between my lips. "We were havin' such a nice time."

Hands up in front of her in a show of mock surrender, she says, "Hey, you're the one who wanted to go all dark and deep with the 'what went wrong in Buffy and Angel's relationship' shtick." She twists back around so she isn't facin' me anymore, but I don't miss the next words that leave her lips. "Which is still _totally_ weird, by the way."

"It's not a _shtick_." Finishin' off my cigarette, I flick the still flaming tip out into the night and shut the door. Move back across the flat. "And I don't give a rat's ass what went wrong in your sodding Greek tragedy. Which, I might add, I'd hardly call a relationship." I circle the chair I've been sittin' in for the past few hours, taking a moment to stretch my arms up again. "What Dru and I had, now that...that was a relationship."

Lookin' unconvinced, the Slayer watches me as I drop back down into the wooden chair. "Dru cheated on you and dumped you. Twice." A purposeful pause as she leans forward. "In a year."

My jaw flexes tight, voice droppin' to a low growl. "And before that we spent over a _century_ together in complete and total bliss."

Ha. That has her mouth clamping shut, smug little smile meltin' off those pretty pink lips. A beat passes between us in silence.

Then, "So what happened?"

The answer springs to my mind immediately. _You_. You _happened_. She happened. Jesus Christ, not a single thing that's happened to me since I've met this Slayer hasn't been because of her in one way or another. Angelus comin' back and ruining everythin' here in Sunnyhell with Dru. Makin' me seek her out for a truce. Comin' back here for the bloody Gem. Loosin' the bloody Gem. Comin back here for a fourth and fuckin' final time only to get man handled and experimented on by a bunch of GI pricks.

And Dru leavin'.

 _"_ _I look at you, and all I see is the Slayer."_

She was the very fuckin' reason Dru'd cheated on me and dumped me twice in a bloody year.

 _Drusilla left me because of you, you smug, selfish, hot little_ bitch. "We just...grew apart is all."

"That," she says slowly, eyes narrowed on me as though she can suddenly read my mind, "is complete and total crap."

And ya know, I think it's because she's right. The reason my temper suddenly snaps and flares to glorious, roarin' life.

"What do you know about it, little girl?" I ask hotly, my voice low, dangerous as I lean toward her. "You're barely 18, have been with a whoppin' total of two men, _both_ of which have seen fit to leave you high and bloody dry immediately following." I chuckle darkly, squintin' my eyes and cocking my head slowly to the side. "Oh, yeah. I'm sure you're a real _pro_. Seems like someone has an awful lot to learn about men."

Probably should've known the words were a mistake before they'd gone and tumbled out of my buggering mouth, but I hadn't been able to stop them. Should've known they'd put a true and right quick stop to whatever pleasantries we'd been exchangin' up to this point. Should've known, because the words hadn't even been mine. They'd been Angel's. Angelus's. Oh yeah, he'd told us all about what he'd said to the Slayer the mornin' after their little tryst. Relished in the re-tellin' of it, the words he'd said, the look on her face. And I'd always planned on usin' that knowledge against her. Course I'd always imagined it goin' a little differently than this. In the throes of passion maybe, fucking her into the ground, whisperin' the words to her just before sinkin' my fangs into the delectable curve of her throat.

Had it all planned out, I did. I _had_. Had expected it to feel bloody magnificent to watch the hurt flash in her eyes just before the green flickered and faded out for the last time.

This, though. Not exactly bloody magnificent. Not magnificent at all, really. Because bugger all if I don't think I'd actually been plannin' to hurt her feelings just then.

And all I can do now is watch as the Slayer's eyes go wide, she blinks at me a few times, and then they begin to water.

 _Fuck._ "Slayer."

"Don't," she says, soundin' every bit as embarrassed as she does brassed off. She turns away from me. "Don't talk to me."

Gone and stepped in it now, mate. I can probably say goodbye to whatever freedom I've been enjoyin' here after this. I clear my throat, grit my teeth, try to think of what to say next. The first thing that comes to my head? Sayin' her sodding name.

"Buffy, I—"

The sound of her name on my lips has her head snapping back toward mine, wet eyes blazing. "What did I just say?" she hisses.

"I'm s—" _Bloody hell, no, you daft wanker, don't_ apologize. I reign the words back in, swallow them down, decide to go a different route all together. Explain. "I didn't mean to say that..." _Yet._ I stop that train of thought in its tracks. Right. Explainin' that I'd meant to save those words for right before I fucked and sucked her, also, probably not the best way to go about smoothin' things over.

I try a different tack. "Look," I begin slowly, drawin' the words out to make sure I don't somethin' stupid this time round. "All I was tryin' to say earlier is that you can't go round blamin' yourself for what happened with Captain Forehead. He's a selfish fuckin' wanker. Always _has_ been, always _will_ be, soul or no bloody soul." She shifts her eyes to mine, and they don't look quite so dust happy anymore. Relaxin' slightly, I continue, "He knew what he was doin'. You didn't. End of story." I pause, eyes still on her face. She's still lookin' at me, but now she really doesn't look as much like she wants to shove a redwood through my chest. Sighing, a touch relieved, I finish with, "And that Parker sod is a blind, drooling idiot."

Kind of surprise myself with how much I mean that last bit.

Slayer looks a little surprised, too. Blinkin' at me, no longer murderous, she says, "That was…actually kind of nice."

 _Nice._ Fuck me.

"Yeah well..." I shift in the chair, rollin' my shoulders back. "Caught me feelin' generous."

She pulls her lip into her mouth again and bites down, a small smile startin' to curve her lips again. Eyes gleaming, lookin' downright impish, she shakes her head. Like she knows somethin' I don't. "That's not why."

I arch a brow. "Is that right?"

Her eyes are back to bein' wide and fever bright again. "Yeah."

"Why do you think it is, then?" I ask, findin' myself surprisingly, shockingly curious.

"I'm still trying to figure that out," she tells me, taps her temple demonstratively. "The fuzzy, fried egg brain isn't exactly helping." She winces then, as though rememberin' for the first time that she's actually still very, very sick. Pressin' the back of her hand to her cheek, she murmurs, "And my skin is all hot."

It is. I know it is, can feel the heat pulsin' out toward me from where I'm sittin' near five feet away. I wonder if that medicine she'd taken is finally startin' to wear off.

"Probably could use a little more water." I shove myself to my feet, lean down to grab the empty water glass off the coffee table. "Here." I head toward the tiny galley kitchen.

"You are _such_ a weird vampire," I hear her say, and I'd swear she might be smiling even though I can't see to know for certain. But then I hear her laugh and know she is. Kind of a nice little sound, really. Her laugh. Tinkling and airy, like a bell.

Never did notice before now.

Smirkin' to myself, I put the glass under the faucet and flip the tap on watching the water fill it to the top. "Am I?"

"Yep." She pops the "P".

"What kind of weird would this be, then?" I ask lightly, shuttin' the faucet off and movin' to Giles's ice box. I pause for a second, waitin' on her answer. Good, bad, indifferent. I partially wonder if she might use the spine tingling one. But when her answer finally comes, driftin' to me softly from the other room, it makes me chuckle.

"Surprising weird."

 _Surprising._ Now there's a word for everythin' that seems to be goin' on between us tonight. Not just tonight though, I s'pose, if I'm bein' honest with myself. Surprising things have been happenin' between us since I'd first arrived at that dorm room of hers.

The full glass of ice water I have in hand. Case in bloody point.

I move back around to where she's seated up right on the sofa, waitin' for me. "Think that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Slayer," I tell her teasingly, being careful to keep the smirk on my lips a sardonic one, "I'm touched."

Her lips quirk up at the corners in a smirk that's a match to mine, her green eyes open and bright as she says, "You caught me feeling generous."

"Touché," I murmur, eyes suddenly drawn to swell of her lower lip as she pulls it into her mouth and bites down on it. Transfixed, like the prancin' lightweight I bloody know I am, I hardly notice when she reaches out and takes the full water glass from me.

I watch it happen in slow motion. One second the glass is gripped there in her tiny fingers, filled to the brim with sloshing ice water, and the next, it's empty. Spilled the entire sodding thing down the front of her sweatshirt, she has.

"Bloody hell, Slayer." And I'm there, directly in front of her, leanin' over her in an instant. I snatch the now empty glass out of her hand and slam it down on the coffee table. "Watch it."

"Sorry!" She's as surprised by the chill of the water as she is by my sudden movements. "Sorry, I didn't mean to." She sits, frozen to the sofa. Shocked maybe? Or just very, very cold. Her arms are down at her sides as her eyes follow my movements, watchin' me yank the wet blanket away from her lap. "My arms are all heavy."

"Well don't just _sit_ there, you stupid bint," I tell her angrily, my body movin' like it's on some sort of poncy autopilot. "Take the bloody thing off or you're gonna freeze."

But she doesn't move. Just sits there starin' blankly up at me, like me callin' her names and barkin' orders at her is the worst thing I've done tonight.

So I drop to my knees in front of her with a muttered curse, fist the hem of her soaked sweatshirt in my hands, tuggin' it up and over her head before I can think twice, before she can say one word against it. I ball the torn, stained fabric up in my hand and use it to wipe away the frigid water that's beading up along her collarbone. "Said it before, I'll say it again," I grumble, pulling the damp material away once I'm finished and tossin' it to the floor, "your survival instincts are laughable."

When I look back up, I notice for the first time that the only thing she'd had on beneath that tattered, oversized sweatshirt is a thin scrap of skin tight white cotton held up on her shoulders by two tiny straps.

And I'm so bloody close to her now, my thighs brushin' against her legs, my head just about eye level with her chest as I look up. I hadn't even realized until this moment.

It hits me all at once. Her scent and her heat, the stretch of smooth, uninterrupted golden skin bared to my gaze. It has me positively salivating. Fangs itchin' to break through my gums, throat on fire, I fight every instinct I have, as every instinct I have is tellin' me to lean forward and sink my fangs into the top curve of her perfect little breast and drink. Deep.

"Uh, umm," she mumbles, and I look up to see her eyes focused down, toward where her legs are slung over the edge of the sofa. "I…"

She trails off, so I look down, realize my hands are braced on her bare legs, just above her knees. My fingers splayed across soft, hot flesh, pointin' in toward her inner thighs. For a minute I just stare, blinkin' down at them, the black of my nails against her tanned skin. I don't even know how they got there.

"Oh." _Jesus Christ_. I jerk my hands away from her, move them to rest on the sofa cushion on either side of her legs. "Right. Sorry."

But now I can't stop thinkin' about it. Her. Her bare legs, the tiny scrap of fabric that somehow pass for shorts as long as they're bein' worn by a plucky California co-ed. All that smooth, golden skin. Right there, right at my sodding fingertips. I can feel how hot her flesh is still. It radiates out to me like a tiny furnace.

I should move. I should…get up off the goddamn floor and _move_. Away. As far away from the girl in front of me as this tiny excuse for a flat will allow me.

But I don't. I don't move, not one bloody inch. Don't. Won't. _Can't_. I'm frozen, the allure of her skin, the intoxicatin' scent of her fevered blood a siren song that sparks behind my eyes and shoots through my veins, and suddenly all I can think about is tastin' her. Not her blood.

Well, not _just_ her blood.

And the real kicker? The goddamn cherry on top of this fuckin' sundae? It doesn't even feel all that wrong to want it.

Maybe it's because in the back of my mind I'm still thinkin' bout what she said earlier. That thing about us not bein'…us. Not at the moment, anyway. That she's not the Slayer, and I'm not exactly in a position to call myself a vampire if I can't hunt. Can't kill, can't feed. Can't drain this Slayer dry, much as I might want to. Much as I might _want_ to want to.

Cause right now I'm about as threatenin' to her as a de-clawed kitten up a tree. And the Slayer is…well, she's just a girl. She's _not_ the Slayer right now, accordin' to her own logic. Can't be the Slayer until she's all healed up. Right now, she's just Buffy. And just Buffy is lookin' at me now with those wide, glazed eyes, her lashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks. Her chest is heaving in what I'm sincerely hopin' is anticipation. Lips slightly parted, bee-stung, looking soft and shiny in the moonlight flooding the Watcher's cramped flat.

There're rules here. Maybe unspoken rules, but rules just the same. The kind nobody has to sit you down and tell you once you become a vampire, the sort of thing you just know. Slayers aren't people, they're the fuckin' enemy. _People_ aren't people, they're food. Vampire. Slayer. Vampire kills Slayer, sucks her dry. Or the Slayer dusts the vamp. That's it. That's the extent of the relationship there.

So the fact that all I'm really wantin' to do to the one sittin' in front of me now is lean forward and suck her pretty pink tongue into mouth is…it's against all the _rules_. It's a line with her that I shouldn't cross. Bloody _can't_ cross. Christ, if I thought callin' the chit by her fluffy little name was a problem…don't reckon I'll be able to come back from this one. But I've crossed so bloody many already in these last few days with her, that now I have to wonder.

What's one more?

"You're high," I murmur softly, repeating her words from earlier. My hands shift slowly, move a little ways further up the sofa and outlining the outer lines of her legs as they do.

Without missin' a beat, she swallows and nods. "I'm high."

Her eyes drop down to my mouth.

I shift a little closer, dig my hands into the sofa's cushions at her hips for leverage and raise myself up onto my knees. "You probably won't even remember this in the mornin'," I whisper, eyes rakin' over her body, every inch of exposed skin I can find. Legs, arms, clavicle, the little V line into her cleavage. Lookin' at her this time like I've never actually seen her before, lettin' myself appraise her body shamelessly and somehow just knowin' she could turn on me at any bloody second, could scream or recoil or shove me away makes it all seem that much more temptin' to me. Mostly 'cause she doesn't. She doesn't do any of those things, the things she probably should do.

Instead she sucks in a sharp little breath. Shivers once, skin prickling all over in goose flesh, luscious little nipples pebbling up through the thin white cotton of her top. I don't know if it's because of the fever or chill of the ice water or from my gaze. Don't rightly care either way when she breathes in and says, "Probably not."

And when our eyes meet again, hers are all but entirely black, pupils blown.

Bugger the line. Sod the consequences.

Never been much for followin' the rules, anyway.

"Right then," I say, then I twist my fingers roughly into her hair and crush her mouth to mine.


	8. Chapter 8

_"_ _You're high,"_ Spike murmurs softly, repeating my words from earlier. His eyes are on my face, gleaming, too-blue irises swallowed up by the black of his pupils as he stares at me. I can feel the icy tips of his fingers against the overheated skin of my outer thighs as he slides them slowly up the couch.

And without a second of hesitation, my head light and delightfully spinny, a little buzzed on both the medicine Giles gave to me and the way the vampire's looking at me now, I swallow hard and nod. "I'm high."

His lips twitch up at the corners. My lashes flutter, eyes dropping to his mouth.

The vampire shifts just a little closer to me, digs his hands down into the couch on either side of my hips and bares down to raise himself up onto his knees. Every nerve ending I have feels like it's heightened, on edge, raw. Hyper aware of how _close_ he is to me. The brush of the denim of his jeans across my shins, the way he smells like cigarette smoke and aged leather, the predatory way his eyes focus in on me. Not predatory in the way I'm used to him looking at me, either. Not so much _I want to rip your throat out_ as it is _I want to rip your clothes off_. It's wiggy. Weird.

Good weird, I think.

And how stupidly yummy his bottom lip suddenly looks to me now as he pulls it into his mouth and bites down on it with blunt teeth.

I want to bite down on it, too. See if it's as soft as it looks.

See if he tastes as good as he smells. Because he smells amazing. Come to think of it, Spike's always smelled good.

I keep my eyes, wide and glassy, glued to his face as his hungry gaze drops down. "You probably won't even remember this in the mornin'," he whispers huskily, dilated eyes raking over my body in unchecked, blatant want. I watch him watching me, watch his gaze travel over my bare legs, up and down my arms, over my shoulders, the curve of my neck. Stopping just once to focus in on the throbbing pulse point at my throat. Then on, down further until Spike's staring shamelessly down the front of my camisole. I can't tell if I'm blushing under his scrutiny or if it's just the fever that's making my face burn. I hadn't been exaggerating earlier when I'd told him my skin was all hot. It was, _is_. My skin is so hot. All of it, every inch, burning and tight and strained and begging for _some_ kind of relief. Attention. Release.

His eyes are so intensely focused, looking at me a little bit like he's never seen me before. Hot, heavy lidded gaze still appraising every single inch of my too hot, too strained body. He isn't touching me, but God, he might as well be.

It very, very dimly registers in my fever fogged brain that this is all kinds of wrong. That this is even more kinds of bad. That this is _Spike_ kneeling in front of me. William the Bloody on his knees in front of me, hands beside my hips. Spike with his not touching but might as well be eyes. Spike that my body is inexplicably pulling toward. I should shout at him. I should shove him away from me. Should punch him in the nose. There are a whole lot of things I s _hould_ do, but I don't do any of them. Don't. Can't. Won't.

Can't, because I'm not strong enough. My arms are heavy, jello-y. I'm not strong enough to hold a glass of water without spilling it, let alone effectively shove somone as strong as Spike away from me.

Won't, because my equally lust fogged brain just simply doesn't want to.

It's like he reads my mind. He shifts even closer to me still, filling int what little space is left between our bodies. My breath catches halfway down to my lungs, stuck on the inhale, a deep breath of nothing but pure Spike. Smoke and leather and the good scotch he'd drank earlier. The hint of something coppery and metallic as his tongue darts out to run along his lower lip, his eyes still dilated, still glued to my bare skin. I shiver once. Hard, involuntary, my entire body covered in goose bumps in an instant. And I'm not even cold. I'm burning up, every inch of me on fire, arching my back and jutting my chest out just slightly, unconsciously, toward him. Toward his lips.

Spike inhales needlessly. Nostrils flaring, long, dark lashes fluttering against his sharp cheekbones as I breathe in and murmur, "Probably not."

Our eyes meet again at that, matching expressions. Twin looks of hazy, delirious lust.

And I think it's probably true, what I've just said. About not remembering in the morning. Or maybe I just hope it is. Or maybe I'd say anything at all right now just to get what it is I think I've just realized I want, what my body needs. Spike's cold hands back on my legs like they were a minute ago, his icy lips blazing paths across my over-heated skin. His tongue…and God, never in a million and a half years would I _ever_ have thought I'd be thinking about Spike's tongue in any way other than a wanting to tear it out to keep him from talking kind of way. But now it's all I'm thinking about. Wanting it on my skin, in my mouth. Cooling me down, putting out the fevered fire that's raging across my flesh, boiling white-hot in my veins.

Inside and out.

He reads my mind again.

"Right then," he says, and before I can think twice or react or move or do anything other than sit still and wait for him to make whatever move it is he's going to make, he reaches up and gathers my hair in his fist, crushing my mouth to his.

And then he's kissing me. _Spike._ Is kissing _me._ And I mean, wow. Like, _really_ kissing me. And I'm letting him. Letting his cool lips move over mine in rough, demanding caresses. Letting his hand twist harder in my hair and the other drop to squeeze and pulse and knead the skin along my upper thigh. His touch is rough and greedy and cold, verging on just the sweeter side of violent. As violent as I think he can get without causing whatever it is the commandos did to him to go all brain melty until his is as fried as mine is. And still I don't make one move, not _one_ , to stop him. It flashes through my head again, that quick thought, moment of clarity when I realize this is wrong. Wrong and bad and lusty a-and _wrong_ , and shouldn't be happening and oh, God, did he just _growl_ into my mouth?

That's all it takes. That one sound, possessive and rumbly and low in the back of his throat, sending vibrations through my entire body. All it takes for every last ounce of rational thought I've managed to keep hold of to slip away, replaced by the floaty, tingly sensations of the pain killers and the delirium of the fever and the heat of my skin and how good, how _insanely_ good, Spike's hands and lips feel as they continue to claim mine.

 _Want, take, have._ Faith's words from a year ago, echoing through my fever fried brain as I taste the vampire who's not so much a vampire right now, the one who's still situated on his knees in front of me. The one who can probably hurt me right now about as badly as I could hurt him. So right now it doesn't matter that he's a vampire or that he's soulless or that his lips have the faintest taste of blood to them, just barely covered by minty, mentholated smoke as they move over mine, because right now he's just Spike. He's just Spike and I'm just Buffy and I'm drugged up and hazed out and this…this is what I want.

So I squeeze my eyes shut and I let myself have it.

* * *

I'm not bein' gentle with her and I know it. Not thinking about her bein' weak, not thinking about her bein' sickly. Not thinkin' about _her_ at all. No. No, I'm only focused on me. What I feel, what I want.

What I need.

And right now? The only bloody answer I can come up with to any of those questions is one word. A name.

 _Buffy._

The girl tastes like heaven. Her mouth is sweet, warm, wet. And it gives way so fuckin' _easily_ beneath mine as I press my lips to hers more roughly, force my way into her mouth. Licking at her pretty pink tongue with mine, runnin' it up along the roof of her mouth. And she lets out the softest little mewl as I fist her hair tighter, force her lips harder to mine. The tiny noise could either be in encouragement or protest, I don't know. And I don't give a bloody damn when her tongue suddenly darts out to tangle fully with mine. The groan it elicits from me is completely undignified, but sod it, she doesn't seem to mind so bugger all if I'm goin' to.

She's burnin' me up, all one hundred-and- _fucking_ -six degrees of her. Her mouth, her skin, all fever-hot. Every ounce of the pig's blood I'd drained earlier in the evening is pulsin', blazing in my dead veins with new life as it all immediately rushes to one central location. All thought vanishes except for this: Want. Girl. Now. And she's so soft and hot and _fuck_ , smells like bloody sugar cookies. I shift forward on my knees, rubbin' myself against her bare legs through a layer of strained denim, desperate for whatever friction I can get.

* * *

He's pressing into me everywhere. His arousal, hard against my legs, his hand digging into the swell of my lower back to pull me tighter against him. He's nipping and biting at my lips, letting out little rumbling growls, husky _purring_ sounds into my mouth. He's purring. Vampire's purr. Angel never did, but then again, Spike does a lot of things that Angel never did. Lots of things. Some good. Like the purring. The purring is good. And a little insane. Insane and kind of adorable and _hot_.

Like, way hot.

And his tongue is as icy cold as I'd hoped it would be, tasting and teasing me, massaging mine. He tastes incredible, honestly probably better than he smells, and my head is growing lighter and lighter with each stroke of his tongue. Still the fever, still the drugs, but also just him, I think. Kissing me breathless, worming his chilled hand under my camisole and up to the back of my neck before pausing there, dragging his knuckles slowly back down the curve of my spine. His movements send another rippling chill coursing through my body, flushed skin prickling up all over again in fresh goose bumps.

Pleased by my reaction, Spike chuckles, pulling away just the tiniest bit to smirk against my lips. He steers his hand around from my back and presses his palm flat into my stomach, inching its way up over my skin, letting my shirt ride up as his cool fingertips brush up along the underside of my breast. He pauses for a moment, just one, like maybe he's waiting for me to shove him away still. Slap his hand away. Do something other than what I'm doing, which is just…letting him touch me. Touch me everywhere.

But I don't. Still can't.

And when I don't, Spike growls again, smirking wickedly one last time before shoving his icy tongue back into my mouth with fresh enthusiasm.

And his hand moves up, further still, both of us seemingly heedless of anything other than taste and touch and the tingling sparks that shoot across my heated skin, spark behind my eyes when he palms my breast and oh, _cold_. I arch back on instinct, pushing myself further into his hand and gasping into his mouth. It's not _enough_. Not enough, he isn't _close_ enough, my skin is still too blistering hot. Taut. Stretched. I need more contact, more of his cool skin pressed against mine. More, more, _more_ , the only word rattling around in my head, all I can focus on when his hand slips away from me, his nails dragging down over my stomach.

And I suddenly just can't take it anymore.

* * *

And suddenly her little hands are on my waist, yankin' me toward her with all the strength she has in those heavy arms of hers. Which innit much, if her grip is any real indication. She tucks her legs up, and I'd swear the little minx does it on purpose, presses her shins just a touch harder against my cock as she slides them up and shifts over. Mouth still fastened tight to mine, practically sucking on my bloody tongue, she presses her back into the pillows and digs her shaky fingers into my hips. Pulls at me again.

It takes me a half second to understand what's happenin', I'm too busy pullin' at her hair, still kissing her roughly. Takes me a long sodding second to get a grip on the fact that she's layin' down now. That she's layin' down and tuggin' on my hips to pull me down on top of her. The Slayer. _Buffy_. Layin' down on her _Watcher's_ sofa, in her _Watcher's_ flat, where her Watcher is sleepin' not twenty bloody feet away from us.

And bloody buggering _hell_ , if I don't suddenly freeze up.

Reality rears into me with all the force of a fuckin' Mac truck, and I gasp needlessly, tear my mouth away from hers to let her breathe, watchin' as she swallows in a deep pull of air. She stares up at me from where she's layin' down, her chest heaving, cheeks rosy. She blinks a few times, lookin' dazed. Her bright eyes are black with lust. Luscious mouth open, lips red and swollen as her breath saws in and out. Ragged, in time with the poundin' of her heart. I can hear it, _Jesus_ , I can hear it. So bloody loud, strong as it pulses in her veins, thundering in my ears and makin' my mouth water. And the sound of her pulse combined with the _scent_. Her scent. The sweetness of the fever, the warm vanilla that's just _her_ and the heady aroma of her arousal.

Oh yeah, it's there, too. And I know it. I've smelled it before. Distinct, fragrant and utterly fucking delicious. Oh, _yes_. That is a particular smell I know well. Chit used to get all fired up durin' our fights, too. Just never been this close to it, is all. Never had such ready access to it. My eyes drift down the Slayer's body, over her flat, exposed belly. Flicker over the thin fabric between her legs. I inhale deeply. Dart my tongue out, lick my lips. Rewarded instantly by yet another full body shiver from the girl.

And then she whimpers.

 _Fuck_ me.

The Slayer, _this_ Slayer, the strongest Slayer I've ever come up against _whimpers_ beneath me. The slightest, sweetest sound I've ever bloody heard. Christ, how long have I waited for this? To hear a noise like that slip between her lips for me? Sure, before, it had always been a whimper of fear. Or of pain. Or maybe, if I'm honest, a whimper of pained pleasure. The way I always imagined it's not the way she's whimperin' now, though. Like she's waitin' for me to make a move. Like she's gettin' impatient. The sound's not one of pain or fear or even pleasure, but _need_.

And this might be better than anythin' I've fantasized about before.

I watch hungrily as she rubs her thighs together, almost unconsciously. Another tremulous little murmur escapin' her lips as she does. I shift my gaze back up to hers to find her eyes glued to my face, glazed, hazy. Bloody _ravenous_.

I suck in an unneeded breath, inhalin' her scent again, jaw clenched tight.

Oh, she wants it alright. Is all but beggin' me for it. And _still_ I fuckin' hesitate, like the wanker I am, one hand still fisted tight in her hair, my face hoverin' over hers as she stares avidly up at me. Don't rightly know what it is exactly I'm waitin' for, either. Waitin' for _it_ , I guess. For the moment to pass, for her to realize we shouldn't be doin' this, _can't_ bloody be doin' this. Waiting for her to shove me away. Punch me in the sodding nose. Slap me, for fuck's sake. Anythin' that'll tell me to stop.

Because Christ, she _has_ to tell me to stop.

She doesn't. A beat passes.

And then she reaches up, cups the back of my neck and drags my mouth greedily back to hers. I moan into her mouth, caught off guard at first.

 _Fuck it._

A second later and I'm threadin' my free hand into her hair so both my hands are tangled in the silky strands, kissin' her roughly. She bites down on my bottom lip, _hard_ , and I growl against her. Launch myself up onto the sofa and situate my body on top of hers before she can stop me, spread her legs with my knee and settle myself between them. I begin to move, rubbin' my erection against her blinding heat. I can feel it already, burnin' me through two layers of fabric. And I'm still savagin' her lips with mine, usin' the grip I have in her hair to move her head this way and that, deepenin' the kiss each time I get some kind of response from her. A zealous sweep of her tongue, possessive tug on my hips. A groan, muffled when she gasps into my mouth.

And you know what, I'm startin' to think it's a right damn shame the bint's goin' to forget about all of this by the time mornin' rolls around.

* * *

I'm kinda hoping I don't forget all this in the morning.

I mean, sure, I know I said I probably would. That I wouldn't remember any of this. That this whole Spike and Buffy marathon-style make out sesh is sort of dependent upon me forgetting all this in the morning.

But I'm kind of hoping I don't.

It seems like it'd be a shame to forget all this in the morning. Like, one of those big, crying kinds of shames people talk about sometimes in old timey movies.

That's a thing, right?

I don't really know. Or care. Can't care about anything other than the weight of Spike's body on top of mine, his fingers in my hair, his tongue in my mouth. How completely and totally yummy he tastes. How _good_ he feels. I wonder hazily if that's another wiggy side effect of the fever or the drugs, or if that's just him. Everything is light and bright and floaty, my body almost not feeling like it's mine as he continues to move over me. Pressing his erection hard into me, I can feel it even through his jeans, rubbing me in just _that_ way with every expert swivel of his hips.

* * *

And it only takes a moment for her to start movin' against me. Rockin' her hips in time with mine, increasing the friction against my straining cock with each shift of her pelvis. Moaning and panting and lettin' out the sweetest little sounds into my mouth. My hands don't move, don't stray from her hair. I like the control, I realize. Like bein' able to wrap the golden ends around my hands and pull so bloody hard I'm sure it almost hurts her, yankin' her head back into the pillows so I can kiss her more deeply. But the Slayer doesn't complain.

If anythin' she responds _more_.

Her hands are bloody _everywhere_. On my hips, my shoulders, diggin' into my back and trailing down my arms. Pulling and pushing and scrapin' at me like she's been fightin' back a strong current and I'm her only sodding lifeline. She finally digs her hands into my hair and tugs, groaning wildly and all I can think in this instant is that I'm hers.

Jesus, so _fucking_ hers.

His hair is soft.

Funny, because I don't think I'd probably expected anything about _Spike_ to be soft. Everything else is awfully hard. But his hair is soft. I notice it when I thread my fingers through the platinum strands and tug on them, freeing them from the gel he's plastered them back with. I'm fascinated a little by the fact that he has curls. Spike. Has _curls_. And not just curls but soft, bleached blonde curls that feel like silk in my hands as I twist my fingers in them and tug as hard on his hair as he's been pulling on mine.

He chuckles again in response, low and breathy as he pulls back, trailing the tip of his tongue along the swell of my bottom lip. All mint and smoke and blood and I pitch my pelvis up to rub myself harder against him, craving the friction more and more. Everything in my head is empty, buzzing, burning. Cheeks flushed. Lips numb. I drag my nails out of his hair and down his neck, digging them hard into his shoulders.

He likes it, I think. My nails scraping along his smooth, pale skin. Likes the little bit of pain. So I dig my nails harder into his shoulders, relishing the way his strong, solid body shudders over mine.

And I want to say it. Say his name. I don't know why, it seems so completely important that I say it right now. But if I say it, it's real. It's real and it's really him and it's really me and it's really _real_ , what I'm doing here. What we're doing _together_.

He tears his lips away from mine to leave a trail of heady, open mouthed kisses across my jaw. In a wild rush down the curve of my throat, nipping at my collar bone with blunt, human teeth. All my Slayer tinglies go off at once, shivers rippling down my spine, red alerts fighting to fire off in my brain. But it doesn't matter. Doesn't help. Doesn't make me push him away like it should, and definitely doesn't keep the next word from passing my lips.

"Spike," I whisper, his name not much more than a hoarse, throaty moan.

* * *

 _Spike._

It's the sound of my name on her lips that does it. Finally makes any and every inch of control I have snap like a bloody twig.

I can't fuckin' stand it anymore. Pull a hand violently out of her hair and yank one corner of the strappy little white number down to expose one perky breast, wrap my tongue around a rosy nipple and close my lips over it. Bite down lightly, roll the tip of my tongue over it and smile against her when she convulses beneath me. Egged on by how bloody responsive she's bein', I drag my hand down further, maneuver it between our bodies and press my thumb down hard over that sweet spot of hers I'd mentioned earlier. Rubbin' in a slow circle. And her response is so good, so sodding _perfect_. She gasps loudly and throws her head back, archin' up into my touch with a loud, womanly cry that makes my cock jump, strain impossiblyhard against the zipper of my jeans. And before I can think too much about it, I slip my fingers beneath the elastic of the tiny scrap of fabric between her legs and curve them up, in.

Bloody, fucking _hell_.

I've been with women, human women, before. Not for long, mind you. Not for anythin' more than a quick feed and fuck. But this. Her. Never felt anythin' like _this_. Her inner muscles clenching immediately, fluttterin' around my fingers. Hot and wet and tight and I have to let go of the nipple I've been tugging on to lave the top swell of her breast with my tongue. And I have to say it. Her name, sear it into her heated skin with my mouth. " _Buffy_."

She pitches her hips up again, arching her back off the sofa and breathin' out a slightly too loud " _Yes_ ".

And suddenly there's a creak above our heads, a mattress groaning, and then the padding of two feet as they touch down on the wooden floor of the Watcher's loft.

 _Shit_.

Stilling my hips, pullin' my fingers out of her heat, I fight the groan that wants to tear from my throat and fight even harder through the violent cloud of lust that's blurrin' my vision, try to focus, take stock of our situation. Drenched fingers still pressed to the inside of her thigh, my other hand still tangled in her hair, her body pinned to the sofa beneath me. We both freeze and pull apart, and I lift my head, findin' her eyes with mine.

She searches my face, gaze just as wide, just as dilated and black with desire as they'd been before, but no longer dazed and hazy lookin'. And that's it. The moment, our moment, is done for. Over as quickly as it began.

I scramble up off the sofa, off of her, before she has a chance to push me off. I'm up on my feet, runnin' a frantic hand through my hair to smooth it back down just as I hear Giles get to his feet and move for the stairs. The Slayer's still starin' at me, though now she's covering herself up. Has pulled her shirt back up in place, pulled the blanket I'd tossed aside earlier back onto her lap. For a moment we stare at one another, and then she opens her mouth like she's about to say somethin'.

I don't give her a chance to.

The second the Watcher sets foot on the stairs, I'm moving. Headin' around the sofa and down the hallway, straight for the bathroom.

* * *

I lay on the couch, stunned, blinking numbly into the empty space where Spike had been standing literally just a second ago. Two seconds ago, he'd been laying on top of me. Five seconds ago, he'd had two fingers…

Oh, _God_.

I'm so confused. Confused and foggy, but a different kind of foggy than I'd been a little bit ago. My muscles are starting to ache again, my head starting to throb. The drugs. The pain killers Giles had given me have started to wear off.

 _Great._

I drop my head into my hands, cradling my forehead, listening to the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut just as Giles steps down onto the main floor of the apartment and shuffles toward me.

 _Double great._

"Buffy?" He asks, sounding sleepy. He yawns, and I squeeze my eyes shut trying to figure out what the hell just happened. "Are you alright?"

I don't feel like I know the answer to that yet.

"Uh, yeah," I tell him, still not sure whether or not it's a lie. I drop my hand away from my head and nod slowly, opening my eyes and wincing a little. "I'm okay. I...the medicine is wearing off, I think."

"Oh." Giles blinks at me, narrowing his eyes to see me better. "You still look quite flushed. Have you had any more water?"

I run my hand absently over the slightly damp material of the blanket in my lap and shake my head. "No," I murmur, glancing away from my Watcher and down to the floor. "Spike...actually got me more but I spilled it." I frown, gesturing with a tilt of my head to the empty glass on the coffee table.

Giles follows my eyes to the glass, then he nods, understanding. He yawns again, reaching up to rub at his eyes. "That must have been the noise that woke me up."

I think about the noise torn from my throat when Spike had pressed his fingers against me, ran his pointed, cool tongue over my chest.

The cry a moment later.

 _"_ _Yes."_

"Must've been," I mumble, twisting around to look toward the hallway, back to where Spike had disappeared a few minutes ago.

As if reading my mind, Giles asks, "Where's Spike?"

My eyes snap back to his. It's funny, I sort of realize I should be feeling more panicky. Or twisty with guilt. Or something. Should be maybe a _little_ concerned that Giles almost caught Spike and I necking on his couch like a couple of teenagers in the middle of the night.

But I'm not.

Instead, I just feel weirdly cold despite the flush in my cheeks.

"I think he went to the bathroom," I tell him simply, burrowing down deeper into the couch cushions.

This response seems to confuse my Watcher. He frowns at me, dropping his hand away from his eyes and down to his side. "Why?"

That's a good question. Frowning, I shake my head. "I don't-"

And a half second later, the sound of Giles's shower cutting on reaches us, the groaning of the pipes coming through the wall and effectively cutting me off.

 _Oh._

So that's what he'd gone to do.

"Apparently he was feeling the need to clean off," Giles jokes wryly, looking unamused as he picks the water glass up off the table and moves toward the kitchen to refill it.

His words leave me feeling even more freakishly cold than before.

"Yeah," I mumble, pulling the still-damp blanket up over my shoulder and turning deeper into the couch. "Apparently."

* * *

Once I've flipped the taps on, I strip myself in a hurry. Kick off my boots and tug frantically at my jeans, whippin' my shirt up and over my head and throwing it as hard as I can at the buggering mirror. Glad, for once, not to have a sodding reflection to be starin' at. I wait another second for the steam to start to fill up the small room before I launch myself into the shower, steppin' hurriedly under the pelting spray of scalding hot water.

A beat passes.

It doesn't work, the bloody water. Doesn't help. The heat of the stream, as good as it is, innit a replacement for _her_ heat. The way she'd burned me up. And it doesn't wash away the scent of vanilla and sex that's clingin' to my fingers, or the flavor of her salty, sweet skin on my lips.

I run a hand down my chest, follow the path of the water over my stomach and down, circlin' a hand round myself and stroking once. Twice. All the while, thinkin' of her. Her hot little hands, her lips and her tongue. How bloody amazin' they'd feel wrapped around me, bubble gum pink and so soft.

Then I open my eyes and growl, slammin' my fist into the wall and refusing to continue.

Because now I'm feelin' all kinds of weak and disgusted with myself and so sodding _torn_. Torn between wanting to stay in here all night and all day tomorrow and find a way to pretend like none of that back there ever bloody happened and wantin' to go out and pick right back up where we left off.

 _Christ._

What have I done?

I lean forward and brace both hands on the tile wall in front of me, close my eyes, let the water hit the top of my head, my shoulders, my back. I stand like this until it starts to sting, little pin pricks that sting and burn but don't do a single _bloody_ thing to erase the memory of havin' her beneath me. I open my eyes again and stare unseeing into the pattern on the Watcher's bathroom wall, prayin' to a God who stopped listnein' to me over a century ago that Buffy won't remember any of this in the mornin'.


	9. Chapter 9

I remember everything in the morning.

I remember everything with this strange, almost shocking amount of clarity. Not that the memories themselves are super, duper clear...they're not. The memories themselves are a little hazy. Dream-like. But they're definitely there, and they're definitely good.

Really, _really_ good.

Which, ya know, is bad. Really, really bad. And wrong. And lusty. And I've got to get a handle on it and soon or I think I might end up going as crazy as Drusilla.

I remember all of it. These swirling, fuzzy mental images from the night before. The visceral feel of Spike's cold hands on the heated skin of my thighs. The insistent pressure of his lips, cool and so much softer than I would have ever thought, the tang of his tongue in my mouth as it had tangled with mine. Blunt little nips and bites at the skin of my chest, over the swell of my breast.

His fingers.

 _God._

Apart from the wiggy, good but also really bad memories from the night before, I actually do feel way better. The constant, thudding ache behind my eyes has gone down to a dull throb, my muscles don't feel as tight or internally sort of sun burnt and I'm totally relieved to see that I can actually push myself into a sitting position without my teeth rattling around in my skull or goose bumps raising all over my arms and legs.

Yeah, this morning is a better one. I feel better than I have in days.

And also, ya know, way worse because…Spike.

The medicine Giles had given me had made me forget about the aches and pains from the drug induced fever, sure, but they'd also made me forget about other semi-important things. Like the fact that Spike is very much of the undead and evil variety. And that I, as the Slayer, should never, in no way, or in any shape or form be doing the things with him that I'd been doing the night before.

And on my Watcher's sofa. Of all places.

"Are you alright, Buffy?" Giles asks me now, drawing my eyes back up to this. He's frowning at me, brow furrowed and looking concerned. "Your cheeks are flushed."

 _Oh, I'll bet they are_.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm fine." I shift back into the pillows, trying to force the wiggy thoughts about what had occurred on them only hours ago away. Way away. "What were you saying?"

"Are you sure?" My Watcher presses, ignoring my attempt to steer the direction away from my flushed cheeks and setting his notepad down on the table, the pen down on top of that. "Do you need anything?"

"I'm good," I promise him again, wondering when and if Spike will finally be making his first appearance of the day. If it'll be anytime soon. Whether or not I even want him to. Whether or not I'm ready to deal with…all _that_. My cheeks start to heat up again so I duck my gaze, look down at my lap and say, "Besides, I'm feeling fine now. If I need anything bad enough I can get it myself."

My Watcher eyes me from over the rim of his glasses, a little like he doesn't quite believe me but isn't willing to argue. "Well, alright. If you're sure."

"The surest," I quip, pulling my knees up into my chest and wrapping my arms around them. "What'd Willow say?"

She'd called the apartment a few minutes ago and I'd watched from my position on the couch as Giles had felt the need to take notes on whatever it was she'd been telling him. The notes hastily scribbled across the notepad he'd tossed down into the table a minute ago, that he turns and glances back at now.

"She and Xander didn't find anything of note when they went by Lowell House this morning," he says, then glances back up at me and leans back in the chair. "She did say they weren't given much opportunity to poke around on their own, however, so her suggestion was to try and go back again."

I shake my head immediately at that. "No," I say. "They don't need to do that."

Giles nods. "That's what I told her. That we'd hold off on making any further plans until we knew how you were feeling." He appraises me again, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully and says, "I take it from your lack of blanket and accompanying shivers that you're feeling better?"

"I am. Way better." I sit up a little straighter as though to demonstrate, lowering my legs down and shifting them over the side of couch, planting my feet on the floor. My legs are still a little on the wobbly side, but I can already feel the strength returning to the muscles as I sit here. "I don't know if it's the medicine you gave me or if maybe whatever the commandos drugged me with has just…worn off." _Or Spike kissage_ , my mind supplies, unbidden. The traitor it so obviously is. _Cause it totally could've been the Spike kissage_. I shake my head, shove those thoughts aside and hope the blood will stay well away from my cheeks this time as I brace my hands on the couch cushions on either side of me. "But yeah. If things keep up like this I should be all peachy _and_ keen soon, I think."

And not a moment _too_ soon, either.

One more day, one more night, cooped up in here with Spike and a fevered brain that makes my actions certifiable…who knows what might've happened?

God, if Giles hadn't woken up when he did last night who knows what might've happened?

I mean, I do. I know.

I know _exactly_ what would have happened.

My inner muscles pulse and tighten once at the thought, a flood of almost dreamlike images assaulting my senses, crowding my mind's eye. A cold and deceptively gentle tongue making play over my skin, nips from blunt human teeth, and two impossibly long fingers.

My muscles tense and pulse again.

I drop my gaze down to my upper thighs and glare.

 _Traitor._

Giles clears his throat, and when I look back up I'd almost swear he's reading my mind. That he knows exactly what it is I've just been thinking. Is it that obvious? God, who am I kidding, it's probably written all over my face.

 _I made out with Spike on your couch last night._

"Well," Giles says purposefully, and for half a second I'm worried he might be about to actually say something about what I've just been thinking. That maybe he'd actually seen or heard or…something more than he'd indicated the night before, about what happened the night before. But then he just continues, "I'm certainly glad you're feeling better. Though we should still keep an eye on your fever. The last thing you need is to go…overexerting yourself before you're ready." He turns away from me, picking up his pen and scribbling something else in the notepad in front of him. "You'll end up flat on your back on that sofa again."

I freeze up, muscles locking in place as my eyes widen.

My God, it's like he _knows_.

And why does everything he's saying suddenly strike me as sounding so, so dirty?

Glad in this moment that Giles isn't looking at me, I attempt to rein in my expression and shake my head to clear it, murmuring, "Check. No overexertion here."

None.

None _whatsoever_.

Ugh, I just feel so…dirty. Granted, sure, a lot of that might have to do with the fact that I've been wearing the same clothes for three days now, and they've been covered in everything from blood to fevered sweat. True, there was the accidental water spillage last night, but that hadn't done anything to really clean me off. If anything, that had only made me dirtier.

Dirty and wrong. And so bad.

But so, so good.

I grit my teeth against the automatic full body throb that accompanies the thought, and quickly turn my attention back to Giles.

"Do you think showering would count as overexertion?" I ask him, having the sudden, crucial need to rinse myself off, watching as he shifts his gaze back to mine. "Cause I'd kinda like to do that. And soon."

Like now.

Should probably make it a cold one, too. Just for that extra little kick in the lusty-wrong pants.

"You want to clean up," Giles says slowly, like it's something he hadn't actually thought about until now. Until hearing me mention it. Then nods his head slowly. "Of course."

But he's frowning.

I frown back. "Okay, what?" I ask, scanning his eyes with mine. "Your face just got weird."

Weird, like reconsidering what he'd just told me, weird. Like now he's thinking showering might actually be too exerting for me. To which I might cry.

Literally.

Burst into inconsolable, frustrated tears.

So I'm a little relieved when he turns fully toward me, crosses his arms and says, "I'm not sure if I have any bath items you might find suitable."

"That's no big, Giles," I tell him quickly, pressing my hands into the couch cushions beside me and pushing myself up to my feet. Like I'd expected, my legs are teeny bit unsteady at first, but seem to grow stronger just as I put my weight on them. "I just need to get this pleasant dried sweat washed off, no girly bath items required."

Giles unfolds his arms again, removes his glasses and tosses them down on top of his notepad. "There's also the fact that the room with the shower is still being occupied by Spike."

Oh.

I freeze in place again, bare feet glued down to the rug below me.

Somehow that little tid bit had completely slipped my mind. But, of course. Of course, if Spike hasn't been out here with us all morning, where else would he have been? It's not like there are a lot of rooms in the tiny apartment. Of course he's still in the bathroom.

And a thought occurs to me then that leaves me feeling suddenly, bizarrely cold.

 _He'd spent the night in the bathroom?_

Like the thought of facing me again after what we'd done had been so bad? That he'd have rather spent the night in the bathroom then have to come back out and speak to me again?

I guess he's wanting to avoid me as much as I am him.

Well, fine. He wants to stay holed up in the bathroom? That's fine. I mean…he can't stay in there all day. Right? He has to come out eventually.

I'm sure he'll get hungry at some point.

Then again, it's entirely possibly he could be in there all day. He could be sleeping for all I know. He is a vampire. And vampires do tend to sleep during daylight hours.

My stomach tightens.

"I guess I'll wait then," I mumble, sinking back down onto the edge of the couch.

Giles frowns at me, arching a brow. "Or you could simply go tell him you need to use the shower."

My first and immediate response is _no_.

No. That'd be a big no. If Spike's being avoidy, which at this point I'm pretty sure he is, then why should I be the one to break the unspoken little avoidance truce? That's the easiest solution to this, anyway. If we avoid each other for the rest of my life we won't ever have to talk about what did or did not or might have or could have happened last night.

Or I guess I could just dust him. That'd be less work on my part.

But that thought makes my stomach tighten in a new, different way. A way that doesn't make me want to think a whole lot about the reason behind it.

So, avoidance. Avoidance it is. I'm good at that. I can dodge and dip and deny with the best of them.

"This is your house," I counter lamely, knowing even before the words leave my lips that they're going to give away the fact that something, maybe not what exactly, but that something is big with the up here. " _You_ go tell him I need to use the shower."

"You want me to kick the vampire out of the washroom for you?" My Watcher asks me skeptically, the corners of his lips curving up in an expression that's part genuinely finding my request ridiculous and obviously half thinking I'm just joking.

I wish I were just joking.

I fold my hands one on top of the other and plop them in my lap, shrugging. "Please?"

He stares at me for a moment, his eyes scanning my face. The little half-amused smile starts to melt away, his expression growing more thoughtful than I feel comfortable with. "Buffy, did something happen last night?"

I feel my eyes go impossibly wide before I can check them. "Happen?" I stammer, sputtering indignantly. "What, no. No. Nothing _happened_." A beat, my voice small. "Why?"

"Well, Spike's been in the bathroom all morning," Giles says, using his glasses to point back toward the hallway leading to the bathroom, "and now you don't want to go kick him out of there yourself." He considers me seriously and then finally he sighs and asks, "Did the two of you have some sort of fight?"

A…fight. Me and Spike. Like we're buddies. Like we're a pair of middle school girls who are giving each other the cold shoulder because we'd gotten into some stupid little spat over which one of us gets to ask Bobby to the eighth grade dance.

The notion is completely ridiculous. Laughable.

I would laugh, too, if I weren't so mind numbingly relieved that the dark, dirty secret is still tucked safely away in my head. Well, mine and Spike's I'm guessing, which is a whole separate issue.

Which has me momentarily panicking all over again, only now for a completely different reason.

Spike and I are the only two people that know what happened between us last night. I'm not going to say anything. I don't even know if I want to admit it to myself, let alone anyone else. But Spike...Spike could tell. He'd have about zero problem ratting me out. God, am I going to have to threaten him to keep his mouth shut, or will he be so entirely wigged out and embarrassed that I won't have to? I mean, jumping the Slayer's bones, not with the intention of killing her but to do other...stuff, that can't exactly be good for Big Bad's street cred, right?

There are only two possible reactions Spike can have to what happened between us. He can get all gloaty and piggish and insufferable, telling any and everyone who'll listen how he got the Slayer all moany and grabby and desperate for him...or he can violently avoid the topic all together. Or maybe he'll act like nothing happened at all, and just be banking on me being amnesia girl and not remembering any of it in the first place. Which, now that I'm thinking about it, is probably the direction things are headed. We'd both mentioned it last night, at separate times. That I was high from the medicine. That I wouldn't even remember anything in the morning.

That's when he'd kissed me.

And Spike hadn't been under any kind of fever or drug induced haze last night. He'd done all of that...why? Because he'd wanted to?

I put an end to that train of thought as quickly as it pops up, smashing it back down again. No. No, it's probably something way more sinister than that. Maybe because if he couldn't kill me, then he'd needed something else to hold over my head? Or maybe he'd just wanted to see how far I'd let him go. Or maybe...I don't know, maybe I was just _there_. An available stand in. I'm not sure exactly how long it's been since Dru'd left Spike but…well, we had been talking about Angel and Drusilla beforehand. Maybe he'd just been feeling...lonely. Or something.

I frown at the thought. Feeling more bothered by it than I should, I think. That same hollow, mysteriously cold feeling starting to tingle in my fingertips.

But….no. I don't think that's it. It had been my name on his lips. Not Drusilla's. Not even Slayer.

He'd called me _Buffy_.

"Buffy?"

My eyes snap back to Giles, who's still seated at the table and looking at me a little like I've sprouted a second head. How long have I been standing here in silence?

What had he just asked me?

Oh, right. Fight. Did we have a fight.

"Yeah," I say instantly, jumping on that excuse, latching onto it like a life preserver. "Yeah, we did. It was dumb. Something about Angel. There were…words." _Though not very many_. "Ya know, it was ugly."

My Watcher regards me with cool eyes for a moment, like maybe he isn't quite sure what to believe. But then he simply nods and says, "Well, that's to be expected. Truces between the two of you have never been tranquil events."

"Yeah," I agree quickly, suddenly feeling an overpowering need to be by myself. "So, I'll just go kick him out of the bathroom now."

And I turn on my heel before Giles can get another word in, shuffling through the space and into the narrow hallway on slightly unsteady legs. Unsteady for an entirely different reason now.

My stride slows as I approach the bathroom door, narrowing my eyes on it like it's said something offensive. With every step closer to it, I begin to get more anxious. Try a little harder to reason with myself. Which would be a lot easier to do if my entire body wasn't still flushed, the dream-like images from the night before weren't still swirling around in my head. If I didn't remember so, _so_ clearly now with each passing minute how the weight of his body had felt pressing mine down into the couch, or the cold glide of his tongue across every patch of exposed skin he'd found.

My entire body throbs again at the thought, followed immediately by an intense wave of nausea. Which I actually think might be a leftover remnant of the drug induced sickness, because the last thing, the very last thing, I'd felt with Spike's tongue in my mouth last night had been sick. I'd felt very un-sick.

Biting down on the inside of my cheek and shaking my head to force the memories away, I refocus my energy on what I'd decided out in the living room.

That this is just Spike. And a handicapped Spike at that. Nothing to be afraid of, or intimidated by. Spike of all people…er, things. Vampires. Whatever might have happened last night…it doesn't matter. It didn't _mean_ anything. It was a fevered, drug induced haze of lusty badness that can't, and won't, ever happen again. Ever.

And I can just tell Spike that.

As soon as he opens the door, I'll tell him that it was a mistake of massive proportions, and I didn't know what I was doing, and if he says a word to anyone about any of it-

And that's when the thought strikes me again, stopping me in my tracks. The same thought I'd had out in the living room, but hadn't really fully gotten a grip on.

That Spike's not even _expecting_ me to remember what happened anyway.

He's not going to say anything to me about it, because I'm not supposed to remember. And if I don't remember, it's sort of like it never happened. What power does he have to go around telling people about it if he believes I genuinely don't remember? If he hadn't wanted me to remember? And if he hadn't wanted me to remember, which he'd said more than once, that has to be because he's embarrassed. Right? Or that he doesn't want to have to acknowledge it, either.

The thought leaves me bizarrely hollow, that same aching kind of coldness I'd felt when he'd abandon me to run into the bathroom the night before, but I don't spend a lot of time trying to figure out why. It doesn't matter anyway.

I'm not supposed to remember last night.

So I'll just pretend like I don't. There. Easy.

Problem solved, and all without having to avoid or dust or make a big show of emptily threatening the bleached vampire.

I cross more quickly down the hallway now, armed with my new plan of feigning complete and total ignorance, and stop in front of the bathroom door. Let out a long, pursed lip sigh, steeling myself for all of the venom and the cutting jibes I'm used to getting from the vampire, that I know I'll probably get again today, especially now that I'm not couch-ridden or weirdly dependent on him anymore.

I lift my hand up, prepared to bang loudly on the white wood with my knuckles when it's suddenly yanked open with a whoosh.

Frowning, my hand still raised awkwardly, I stare up into Spike's bright azure eyes. They meet mine instantly, unwavering, and almost blindingly bright. I have to fight the instant, powerful urge to drop my gaze away from them.

Why do they feel so much harder to look at in the light of day?

Maybe because seeing him again, especially in the light of day, brings every single piece of the night before rushing back to me in waves. Sends every ounce of resolve I'd had, the piece of me that had been so ready to be content pretending like last night never happened, skittering away like a frightened rabbit. I continue to stare at the vampire, eyes locked on his, as my pulse quickens and my mouth starts to water. And if I'm not blushing like a little girl with her first crush I'll be absolutely shocked.

So...yeah. This is pretty much the opposite of the calm, cool, very Slayery reaction I'd had in mind.

Spike, for his part, looks about as surprised to see me standing on the other side of the door as I'd been to see him opening it. Not...bad surprised, I guess. Just a little startled. Like maybe he'd been planning to come out just as I'd been planning to kick him out.

A beat passes between us, and it's outrageously awkward.

Then, blinking those long lashes at me he simply says, "You're up."

I frown a little deeper. Like that's a surprise? It has to be nearly noon by now.

Still, I just stare back at him and murmur, "I'm up."

"No, I mean…you're up." He cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowing a little as he continues to pin me to the spot. "Walkin' all on your lonesome and everything."

"Oh," I say numbly, starting to understand what he'd meant. And feeling inexplicably embarrassed for misunderstanding. What is the _matter_ with me? "Yeah. Walking, talking. The whole nine yards."

"S'pose that means you're feelin' better then?" he asks, his body still blocking the bathroom doorway. His eyes rake over me suddenly, dropping down from my face, over my neck, over my chest.

I feel my pulse throb once, hard, at the space where my jugular is just as his eyes land on it.

And it's only now that I realize I'm still only wearing the white camisole and the shorts I'd been wearing the night before.

"Uh yeah, lots better actually," I nod, subconsciously reaching my arms up and crossing them protectively over my chest. Suddenly feeling exposed. _Not that he hasn't seen it before_ , the traitorous little lust Buffy that lives in the back of my mind reminds me, and I tighten my arms a little further. "I think the fever's pretty much gone, or at least it will be soon, so—" I'm cut off abruptly when he reaches for me. I jump, nearly leaping back away from him, but cold fingers are pressed across my forehead before I can. They feel incredible, and bring back another bout of flashing memories from his touch the night before. I swallow, like I might be able to swallow the thoughts themselves and tell the vampire as sharply as I can, "Your hands are _still_ freezing."

"Cause you're _still_ warm," Spike says in response, his eyes on his hand now rather than anywhere on me. Brow furrowed like he's concentrating. "But you're right. S' gone down quite a bit."

The vampire pulls his hand away.

"How much down?" I hear myself asking quickly, only halfway registering the fact that I don't know if I'm asking because I genuinely want to know how much better the fever is, or if it's because somewhere deep down, way deep down, I know he has to have his hand on my skin in order to answer my question.

Again, I choose not to spend a lot of time thinking about it.

Maybe I'm still more fevered than I thought.

Spike eyes me curiously, pauses with his hand outstretched about halfway back to his side. It looks for a minute like he's about to say something to me, then decides against it. He doesn't say anything as he reaches his hand back up to me. This time, he brushes the backs of his fingers along my brow, then down around my temple, finally letting them linger against the side of my face.

"Six, maybe seven degrees," he answers after a quick moment passes.

So I am still sick. At least a little. Might not be at 107 degrees like last night, but 100 degrees...that's still kind of up there.

"My Slayer healing must have kicked in overnight," I say, even as my skin prickles over in goose bumps. I cross my arms a little tighter on impulse.

Spike tenses just a little at the mention of last night. Not enough to give anything away, but just enough to let me know he's probably been thinking about it, too. Stewing over whether or not I'd in fact remember, maybe. But when I don't say anything more about it, his muscles relax and he just says, "Looks like."

His cool fingers are still touching my flushed cheek. He hasn't made another move to pull it away, but I haven't exactly stepped away from him, either. How dead of a giveaway is that, I wonder, that me, the Slayer, is standing here in her Watcher's hallway just letting her mortal enemy cup her cheek. Or is it better if I'm _not_ all weird and jumpy today? After all, I let him do this yesterday, right? It hadn't been any weirder then than it is now.

Except now Spike's seen me half naked.

His azure eyes are still glued to mine, and if I didn't know any better I'd say they almost look suspicious. Like he's waiting for me to say something, anything, about what it is I'm clearly not supposed to say anything about. Or know anything about. This is weird. All of the awkward morning after without any of the actually talking about the awkward morning after.

Feeling insanely uncomfortable, I clear my throat and say, "So, I guess I'm the Slayer again."

"Yeah," Spike murmurs, his hand still pressed against my slightly heated skin. His eyes are stilll on mine, searching them intently. Almost like he's trying to get inside my head, to try and see past the pretending I'm doing and get to the bottom of whether or not I remember the taste of his tongue or not. "Guess so."

For one incredibly tense, impossibly long moment, we stand like this. And just when I think he's about to say something, open his mouth and just ask me whether or not I remember anything about the night before, there's Giles.

Again.

"Buffy," my Watcher says, and I can tell by the way his voice echoes that he's moving toward us from around the narrow corridor between the living room and the hall that houses the bathroom.

Spike jerks his hand away from my cheek at the same instant as I jump backwards and away from him, both our eyes wide, like neither of us has a clue exactly what's just happened.

Giles rounds the corner. "Oh good, I'm glad I caught you. I don't think it's a good idea—" he pauses mid-thought, coming to a stop a little ways away from me and the vampire. His brow furrows, and his eyes look back and forth between us. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," the vampire and I say in loud, hurried unison.

As if that isn't the deadest of giveaways that yes, actually, something had in fact just been interrupted. Exactly _what_ something, though, I'm still not sure. My Watcher frowns at us, and I watch as Spike's eyes flash, like he's just realized something by the hastily spoken denial.

There's an awkward, drawn out pause between the three of us. Annoyed, partially at being interrupted and partially at not feeling like I know exactly how to handle the situation I've gotten myself in, I clear my throat. Turning my body around to face Giles, I ask, "What's not a good idea?"

My Watcher shifts his eyes back and forth between us once more, still looking unconvinced by our mutually shouted "No". With any luck, he'll write it off as being an extension of the ugly fight I'd told him we'd had the night before, and not the awkwardly charged pseudo-sexual tension filled moment it had actually been.

"Right," he finally says, casting one last disdainful glance toward Spike before focusing back on me. "I was just going to suggest you consider having a bath to get cleaned up rather than a shower."

Oh.

That…definitely isn't what I'd been expecting him to say.

Beside me, Spike chuckles mockingly. When I chance a look back at him his arms are crossed, leaning his shoulder into the bathroom's door jamb. "You have some nice scented candles and bubble bath to go along with that suggestion, Rupert?"

"Yeah," I murmur a slow agreement, brow furrowing as I look back at the older man. "I think I can decide for myself how I want to go about getting un-sweaty."

"Of that I have no doubt," Giles says dismissively, obviously a little frustrated that I don't seem to be getting the point. "What I'm suggesting is that while you may be feeling better today, you're still a little weak. Yesterday you couldn't even sit up, let alone stand for any length of time inside a steaming shower."

Oh, okay.

Yeah, no. I'm still not getting it. I frown at him. "You're worried I'm going to pass out?"

"Or merely slip and fall if your legs give out," he concludes with a short nod of his head, "yes."

I make a face at him, understanding now. Times like these, while I so _totally_ appreciate Giles and everything he's ever done for me, it verges a little on smothering. I get that he worries about me. I do. But there is such a thing as worrying too hard. He and Mom both, it's one of the things they have the most in common.

"Don't worry, Giles," I tell him, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. "If I've fallen and I can't get up, I'll be sure to yell for help real loud."

My Watcher does roll his eyes at me, turning them up toward the ceiling as he says dryly, "And may I point out that if you do happen to become weak while you're in shower and do need any type of help, your options for assistance are limited to your Watcher and…" His eyes land on the vampire in the doorway. "Well, Spike."

My eyes go a little bit wider.

And there's the real reason.

Not so much that Giles is worrying just a smidge too much about my safety, but that he's worried what might happen if I had a slip n' slide happen in the shower. Because he's right. My legs feel fine right now, but that doesn't mean twenty minutes in a steaming bathroom can't still wreak havoc on them. Or on my slightly feverish head. And if I did slip, if I did fall…well, yeah. I'd need help. And I'd be very much of the wet and naked variety while needing help. And as far as being wet and naked goes, I'm not exactly in a huge hurry to have either Spike or Giles see that much of me.

Swallowing the lump that's suddenly cropped up in the back of my throat and weakly nodding my head, I manage, "Just call me bath time Buffy."

Spike makes a weird, choked little sound from beside me, and when I glance back at him his eyes are down, arms folded a little more tightly over his chest. I narrow my eyes at him but he doesn't look up at me.

Giles on the other hand sounds relieved when he says, "Good. Willow should be calling soon to check in on your condition, should I tell her to stop by?"

"Yeah, that'd be good," I agree, another little shiver running down my spine, making my body shudder slightly. Not the same fevered chills from the past few days, but more a shiver of awareness. That it isn't exactly warm in the drafty hallway, and I'm still only wearing shorts and the thin cami. Which reminds me… "And also maybe ask her if she'll bring me a change of clothes?" Giles nods in agreement, and I turn back toward the bathroom. Then I pause, another thought popping into my head as I look to him once more. "Oh, and make sure you tell her not to go back to Lowell house. I'll go check it out myself."

To my surprise, both my Watcher and the vampire hovering in the doorway in front of me seem to tense up at the same time.

Giles widens his eyes and raises his brows. "Buffy, did we not just talk about over exerting yourself?"

I roll my eyes. "I'm not gonna fight anybody, Giles," I tell him simply, letting my arms unfold from across my chest. "Just a little recon."

"And if our soldier boy pals happen to spot you?" Spike pipes in, drawing my attention back in his direction. He's no longer lounging against the doorframe, but standing straight up and down, blocking my path into the room. He quirks a brow and asks derisively, "Think you'll be able to throw your hands up and call truce on account of the fact you still ain't quite healed up from the last time they tried to nab you?"

I open my mouth to say something to him, maybe to tell him to shut up like I normally do, but Giles cuts me off before I can.

"As much as it pains me to say this," and he does actually look physically pained to be saying it, "Spike might be right. This isn't a good idea, Buffy. As I mentioned before you might be feeling better but I'm certain you still aren't up to full strength." He looks down, considering with a shrug of his shoulders. "If things were to go wrong you wouldn't be able to defend yourself."

I stare at him, then glance back toward Spike, eyes narrowed. Okay, okay wait. My Watcher…and my mortal enemy. Agreeing. Over what they think is best for me. Aside from being royally irritating, this is beyond wig worthy.

Does anyone else aside from me realize how bizzaro this is?

But, you know, fine. If they're so worried, there's an easy solution.

I shrug casually and tell Giles, "Then I'll take Spike with me."

The hallway goes still.

"You'll _what_ now?" the vampire asks, leaning toward me slightly with narrowed eyes.

Oh, right. Like he hadn't seen _that_ coming?

"We'll go together," I say simply, turning my head toward him again. He appraises me with two raised eyebrows, an expression that reads a little like I've lost my mind. I sigh, waving my hand at him and saying, "You're all wanting to figure out whatever they did to your head, right?"

"Yeah," the vampire agrees slowly, drawing the word out. His tone is clipped, cautious. Like he's waiting for me to get to the second half of my point.

But Giles is speaking again before I can. "Spike would hardly be of any help, Buffy."

I turn back to look at my Watcher just as Spike barks an indignant sounding, "Oi!"

"You said it yourself," Giles reminds him snippily, looking and sounding as annoyed as I suddenly feel. "You can't even hit people right now, not with whatever it is they've done to you. They'd be able to overtake both of you fairly easily at the moment."

And I know this face he's making at me now. The "don't argue with me, you won't be winning this one" face. God knows I've seen it enough times before. God knows I already know exactly how to get around it. Not that I should. Usually when Giles makes this face it's because he has more than enough reason to, usually when I'm about to do something especially stupid or reckless. Something stupid and reckless, and something I normally end up doing anyway, with or without his permission.

So instead of arguing, I let my shoulders sag forward a little and nod.

"Okay," I say, voice dropping to a lower, quieter level. "Okay, point made. I'll wait." I offer him a small, understanding smile. "No Slayering until I'm up to full Slayer snuff."

Which totally isn't a lie, since I hadn't planned on doing any real Slayering tonight anyway. No fighting, no vampire stakeage. Just…looking. Somewhere really close to the spot on campus where Lowell House is.

No big.

"Thank you," Giles says to me, mirroring my small smile. "Now, back to what I was suggesting—"

He's interrupted by the sharp trill of the telephone. He sighs, giving me a look that's probably supposed to be meaningful but I'm not exactly in the right headspace to read the meaning. "That'll be Willow," he says by way of explanation, and I watch him turn on his heel and disappear around the hall's corner.

I turn my eyes to Spike, who's looking at me warily, one eyebrow raised.

"What?" I ask, raising a brow.

Any trace of the awkward, semi-sexually charged energy between us has disappeared now. Which is good. It makes it a lot easier to meet and hold eye contact, anyway.

Or at least it does, until Spike smirks at me, curling his tongue up to touch against the roof of his mouth. "If I'd'a known all it'd take to get you to give up on a plan of yours was a little Nancy boy logic, might've beaten you years ago."

"Who says I've given up?" I ask the vampire, lowering my voice and actively ignoring the tongue thing. Also actively ignoring the thoughts it brings roaring back to the surface, the ones that make my skin feel tight and hot, desperately needing to be cooled.

Spike frowns a little at me, the smirk faltering and the dark, twisted, lusty thoughts faltering with it. "But you told the old man—"

"What he needed to hear to let it go."

This seems to delight him. Brings a distant, flickering flash to his eyes as he continues to stare down at me.

"Why, Slayer," he all but purrs, cocking his head to the side, lips curving up appreciatively. "How very devious of you."

I wish he wouldn't do that. Talk like that. Somehow make everything sound like an invitation to shove him back into the bathroom and pick up exactly where we'd left off the night before.

Which, no. Just no.

"Not _devious_ ," I counter, finding the look on his face is making me feel extra uncomfortable. Just a little too close to the way I'd caught him looking at me the night before. I clear my throat and glance back down the hallway, listening to dull murmur of my Watcher's voice on the phone. "Just…I only ever lie to Giles when it's for the greater good. And right now, sneaking out tonight to try and figure out what those military rejects are up to is definitely of the greater good."

A scarred brow skyrockets. "How's that now?"

The real answer? I'm going stir crazy. Full blown cabin fever, and I've only technically been well enough to even consider getting up and moving around for about five and a half hours. But being who I am, what I am, and being forcibly stuck to the couch for days on end has taken its toll. My body is buzzing, itching to get outside. To move. To stretch. No, I don't necessarily plan on fighting anyone, but I will if I have to.

Mostly, I just need to get _out_ of here.

But that's a bad excuse, and probably kind of a selfish one.

So instead, I look back at Spike and say, "Well they're obviously up to _something_ majorly wiggy. Kidnapping and experimenting on demons, and non-demons alike apparently. And I'm not a huge fan of people coming into my town and trying to do my job." I pause, a beat passes, Spike looks more than a little amused. Then I add, "But mostly the other stuff. And _you_ should want to get to the bottom of this as much as I do." I point toward him, unthinking for just a moment, just long enough for the tip of my pointer finger to press into his collar bone for emphasis. "Don't you wanna know what they did to you?"

"Course I do," Spike says, scoffing, folding his arms up over his chest again. I try not to notice this time the curve of his biceps tight against the short sleeves of his t-shirt, alabaster skin against black cotton. "Wanna rip the sods apart for doin' it, too. Piece by bloody piece." He pauses, then lets his lips quirk up. "Literally."

I make a face at him, squinting my eyes and wrinkling up my nose in distaste. "Okay…so we're not entirely on the same page," I say, feeling a little frustrated when his response is to roll his eyes at me. "But the quickest way to figure out what exactly they're doing here is to start investigating."

"So you're goin' to…what?" Spike asks skeptically, widening his eyes as his voice becomes quietly mocking. "Sneak out the house after dear old dad goes to sleep?"

"Not _me_ ," I tell him pointedly, casting a quick glance down the hallway, then back to the vampire. "We."

"We?" he repeats flatly, leaning back away from me. Any mirth I'd seen in his eyes a moment ago flickering and fading out as quickly as I'd noticed it.

I simply nod, not thinking anything of the weird note in his voice. "Yes, we. You and me." I nibble down on my lip, thinking of the best way to go about getting out of the apartment. How long we'll have once we do. Not that Giles has any real power to punish me or anything, but I don't exactly love it when he's disappointed, either. "We'll have to wait until—"

"Now hold on a bloody second," Spike growls, cutting me off and sending my eyes snapping back to his. His arms aren't crossed anymore, but down at his side, hand suddenly clenched tight into fists. His jaw is clenched now, azure eyes dark and flashing. "I know we're in the middle of a truce here and all but that doesn't make me your sodding kept vamp, Slayer." He leans toward me and narrows his eyes a little. "Not one of your little mates. Not gonna jump when you say to, am I?"

And I have no idea, none, where all this sudden contempt is coming from. This is what I'd been expecting from him the moment I'd opened the bathroom door, but since he'd given me a good ten minutes without it, I hadn't…well I don't know what I hadn't. Hadn't expected it to rear up so suddenly. Or so spitefully. I admit, I'm a little bit stunned by the sudden shift in his mood. Not that the vamp has ever exactly been even keeled, but this seems a little left fieldy, even for him.

Had things not been just fine like…half a second ago?

"I didn't say anything about jumping," I say lamely, knowing it isn't really the point but also just a little too confused to think of anything better to say.

"Very funny," Spike hisses in response, his voice low, menacing. A 180 degree difference from mere moments ago. "We might be _toleratin'_ each other for the time being, seeing as how I'm not exactly in a position to fend for myself, but that's it. Not in your sodding club. Not here to do whatever you bloody ask, whenever you bloody ask it."

I stare at him for a minute, trying and failing to read the expression in his eyes. Finally, I just swallow, and when I speak my voice comes out hard and quiet.

"Silly me," I mutter, glaring up at the bleached vampire, my own fingers twitching into fists at my sides. "And here I thought truces were about working together."

"Not when it's a bleeding suicide mission," he snaps. Then he brings a hand up, jabbing a finger hard in my direction. "You wanna get yourself turned into those wankers' latest science experiment, be my guest. I don't give a bloody damn." He turns the finger back on himself for emphasis. "But don't go ropin' _me_ into it, yeah?"

The silence that stretches between us is different than it's ever been before. Mostly because I, for once, have literally nothing to say. I guess I should have expected this. Should have known that whatever happened last night wouldn't mean much of anything in the harsh light of day. Even if he thought I did remember, and I honestly still don't know if he thinks that or not, it isn't like that would somehow magically make things between us easy. This is Spike, after all.

He never makes things easy.

And I don't need, or want, them to be easy anyway. No. This is better. Way, way better. At least when he acts like this, like himself, it makes it easy for me to remember why it is I hate him so much. Reminds me why I know we'll go back to wanting each other dead as soon as he's figured out what the commandos have done to him. Better to keep things hard. Distant.

It'll just make it easier when I dust him, anyway.

Which is exactly what I tell myself when my eyes suddenly start to burn, filling up with the unmistakable blurriness of unshed tears. Which is stupid. So, so stupid. I am still feverish. I have to still be sick. There's no other excuse for this.

I harden my resolve and glare once more at the vampire before I tear my gaze away from his, thankful when Giles suddenly comes walking back around the corner.

"Willow will be by in a little while," he says, holding his glasses in one hand and rubbing absently at the bridge of his nose with the other. Like maybe he's just gotten an earful of something he'd rather not have gotten an earful about. Oz, maybe. "She said she'd bring you a change of clothes, and that she'd like to go over the details of their trip to Lowell House if you were up to it. I told her you would be."

"Good," I tell him, straightening my shoulders. "Great. I…" I trail off, feeling the treacherous burning beginning in my eyes again. I inhale sharply and blurt out, "I need to shower."

He drops his hand and his eyes go wide with sudden panic. "Buffy—"

"Bath, right, I know. No showers. Got it," I correct myself hurriedly, just really desperately needing to be alone for a little while. I turn back to fix him with a hard look he probably doesn't deserve and half-shout, "Don't worry, Giles, you aren't gonna have to see me naked."

And with that I storm past the vampire blocking my path, shouldering him roughly out of my way and stomping into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me and twisting the lock in place.

* * *

I'm tryin' real bloody hard not to think about it.

Not to think about the Slayer, or the genuine look of hurt that had flashed in her hazel eyes when I'd told her I wasn't about to fall in line with her. Wasn't about to fall under her command. Knew it hadn't been rightly fair of me, even in the moment. Knew she didn't understand where it was comin' from. Could see it written all over her face, that she didn't remember a bloody thing about the night before. Which is perfect. Which had been the whole buggering point to begin with.

Which still didn't explain why the chit had just let me touch her like she had. Not only let me touch her to check the fever, which had been so sodding poncy of me to begin' with, but she'd _asked_ me to check it the second time round.

I'd thought in that moment, just that one, that she might remember. But no. No, if she remembered, she wouldn'a let me get close to her today.

She would've staked me outright.

I know that.

Just don't know why it bothers me so bloody much. I hadn't wanted her to remember. That'd been the whole point, yeah? That I could get a little somethin' out of this buggering house arrest I've stupidly and willingly put myself under and never have to hear about it afterward. She hadn't been meant to remember.

So why'd it get under my skin when she obviously hadn't? I mean, Christ, it isn't like I want the chit to remember.

I _don't_.

So I don't rightly know why I'd snapped at her like that. A mix of things, maybe. Partly that she hadn't remembered. Partly the way she'd been talkin' to me. Like I'm suddenly not the same vamp who'd tried to do her in a dozen times over. Like I don't still full intend to drain her dry the first chance I fuckin' get. When she'd started talkin' to me about the truce, and about us, and about...we. Like there's suddenly a we. What? Like we're some kind of _team_ now? Like I'm one of her Scoobies. Like I'm _Angel_.

Just because of our little truce.

Just because I'm desperate to know what that tight, wet heat of hers would feel like wrapped around my cock. Just because it's all I fuckin' thought about all night last night in that prison cell of a bathroom, and all morning today.

 _Fuck._

So I'm tryin' not to think about it now.

Not about her wet, sudsy tits, or those tight inner Slayer muscles. Or the nubile arch of her body when she leans back to wash that hair, that stupid, perfect hair, under the faucet. Or the way I'd gone in one fuckin' night, in what feels now like the blink of a fuckin' eye, from wanting the bint to beg and scream and say my name before she finally lay dead at my feet to wanting to make her beg and scream and say my name in the middle of an earth shattering, mind bendin' orgasm.

God, I bet the little bitch is bloody _magnificent_ when she comes.

Which is one the many things I'm tryin' so hard _not_ to think about now. Don't want to think about last night, or the moment in the hallway. Or anythin' at all about the girl lounging in the Watcher's bath tub.

But I'll be damned if it innit takin' every ounce of buggering energy I have _not_ to think about it now.

 _"_ _Don't worry Giles, you aren't gonna have to see me naked."_

She just had to go and put that bloody image in my head, didn't she. The little minx. A right nice image, mind you. But not one I can do anythin' about at the moment. Least not one I can do anythin' about without riskin' a swift and painful stake through the heart. Which is makin' me real antsy. And more'n a little frustrated. Had started to take care of that second bit last night, and once again after the failed shower attempt, but hadn't been able to bring myself to finish. Which I might add, is a first.

And I'm regretting not tryin' a little harder now.

Bloody hell, what I wouldn't do for a nice, vile kill. Somethin' to make me feel like _me_ again. A lovely little scream of ice cold terror, followed immediately by a mouthful of hot, fresh, _human_ blood. Preferably from one of those UC Sunnydale co-eds. Maybe a blonde.

Yeah.

A tarty sorority-type blonde with California tan skin, a criminally short skirt and perky little tits. A quick feed and fuck, that's what I need. Wash the taste and the scent and the feel of the sodding Slayer right out of my mind. The pig's blood sittin' in the mug on my lap is doing absolutely bloody nothing for me right now. Not takin' my mind off things, not takin' away the gurglies in my tummy. Sure as bloody fuck not doin' anything to make me less inclined to say sod it and storm into the bathroom, take the wet, slippery Slayer into my arms and fuck her senseless up against the nearest vertical surface.

Risk of a pointy stick through the chest be damned.

And with that utterly delectable visual planted firmly behind my eyelids, I groan, shiftin' in the oversized chair to relieve a little of the pressure the jeans are puttin' on my cock. _Jesus_ , I used to be so much better than this. Bein' cooped up in the Watcher's flat is startin' to take its toll, I think.

Otherwise why in the bloody buggering _fuck_ would I be sittin' here halfway wishin' she'd have remembered everything that happened?

I'm in the middle of _very_ seriously considerin' a third attempt at taking care of the bulge in the front of my pants, knowin' the Watcher won't be back for at least a little while longer, when there's a knock on the front door.

Growlin' low in the back of my throat, frustrated, I lean over to set my mug of blood down, snatch one of the ancient lookin' books off the shelf beside me for cover, and shove myself up to saunter toward the door. I can smell the little redheaded witch before I can see her, so it's more for effect than because of genuine surprise when I open the door, careful to avoid any stray stream of sunlight, and say, "Oh, it's you."

She, however, looks completely surprised to see me openin' the door.

"Umm...yeah, it's me." She frowns then, glancin' round over the back of my shoulder and into the livin' space of the tiny flat before lookin' back at me. "Were you expecting someone else?"

I don't bother to answer her question. Instead, I leave the door wide open and turn my back on her, headin' straight back to the chair and the blood I'd vacated a moment ago. "Rupert's not here."

"Oh," I hear her say from behind me, and then the sound of the front door squeak and close half a moment later. No sound of her footsteps, though, so she must just be hoverin' near the front. "Um...okay. I was mostly coming by to bring Buffy some clothes from the dorm." A couple shufflin' footsteps, and then a thud as the witch sets somethin' down on the table. "And homework, from the classes she's missed."

I flip round and fix the girl with a raised eyebrow at that, droppin' back down into my chair and layin' the book strategically across my lap. "Right," I mutter wryly, a cold smirk touchin' my lips. "That'll put the Slayer in a lovely mood."

Thought it can't be a whole lot worse than the mood I put her in earlier, I'd wager.

Willow frowns, her eyes shiftin' from me, over toward the kitchenette, the hallway that leads toward the bathroom, then back to me. "Giles said she was feeling better."

"So she says," I murmur, castin' my own furtive glance in the direction of the hallway. Narrowin my eyes, like if I try hard enough I might be able to see through the wall and straight to the naked Slayer. "Fever's gone down quite a bit, anyway. Only about 100 degrees last I checked it."

I don't rightly realize I've said anythin' odd until the redhead makes a strange little noise, and I glance back to see her gapin' at me.

I frown deeply at her, annoyed she's interrupted the new lurid fantasy I'd been about to indulge in. " _What_?"

"You...checked?" she asks me slowly, her voice very small. Havin' a little trouble reading the exact expression on her face, though her eyes are clearly fixed to me, brow furrowed and skeptical.

My eyes widen a bit.

 _Oh, bloody hell._

"Vampire, yeah?" I say quickly, lookin' away from her to reach down for the pig's blood on the floor. Probably cold by now, but I'm lookin' more for somethin' to distract myself than because I need it. "Can sense how hot someone's blood is."

"Oh. Right." A long pause, some awkward throat clearin' sounds. I lift the mug to my lips and take a drink and Willow hovers with her hip against the table. Finally, she asks, "Well, umm...did Giles say when he'd be back?"

I shake my head, swallowin' the sip I've just taken. "Just nipped out for...well, I dunno where he got off to. Wasn't payin' attention because, frankly, I didn't bloody care." The old man had been tryin to tell me somethin' or other about where he'd be gettin' off to but I'd been right and properly distracted by the sound of running bath water through the wall. "Imagine he'll be back soon, though."

She just nods again, doesn't say anythin'. From down the hall I can faintly make out the sounds of water splashin'. Clenchin' my jaw and grittin' my teeth against the fresh wave of images the sounds bring with them, I turn back toward the witch and do the only thing I can think of to properly distract myself from the growing pressure in my jeans. "He, uh, said you went by that commando house earlier today? How'd that go?"

She looks about as surprised as I am that I seem to be attemptin' to make small talk with her. But I figure if she's gonna be here, she might as well make herself bloody useful as a distraction.

"Giles didn't tell you?" My response is too raised brows. She nods sheepishly. "Right. No, just a whole lot of nothing. I mean, creepy, sure...but mostly just your run of the mill kind of college aged male creepy. Half eaten sandwiches and beer bottles, dirty clothes," she shrugs casually, like I should somehow know all this already, "that sorta thing."

I nod slowly, pursin' my lips and considerin' that. Not surprised, I guess. Hadn't exactly figured they'd find much of anythin' just be snoopin' round after a lost purse. Still, I find myself askin', "No sign of the lab then?"

Willow shakes her head, still hoverin' safely over by the table. "Not even a flicker of neon."

My lips twitch a bit at that. Clever little bird, Red. Have always kind of thought so. "Too bad," I mumble, glancin' down at the open book in my lap. "Would'a liked to have some sort of lead to go on."

Though if I'm honest, I'm just a touch on the relieved side. If Red here can tell the Slayer she hadn't found anythin', that the reality is the commando lab might not be anywhere near this Lowell House, maybe she can convince the chit not to go runnin' off halfcocked tonight like she's plannin' to do.

Not that I give a flyin' fuck _what_ the Slayer does. I'd already told her as much. If she wants to run off and get herself nabbed up, by all means. It isn't like I'm expectin' anyone to be able to change the stubborn chit's mind, anyway.

Still.

If the stupid bint dies before I ever get a chance to taste her, that'd be a right bloody shame.

Red clears her throat. "So, is Buffy…?"

I snap my eyes back to her, having forgotten for a split second that she was still in the room. I frown at her, thinkin' about what she's just asked me. "She's in the bath. Should be finished up soon." I tilt my head to the side, narrowin' my eyes on her. Noticing for the first time how fidgety she is. The rapid, hummingbird rhythm of her pulse. My lips twitch and I ask her, "Why so nervous?"

Her eyes bug, goin' comically wide. "Nervous?" She repeats me, lookin' startled. "Who's…I'm not _nervous_."

I raise a single brow at her. "Heart rate's tellin' me otherwise. Just don't rightly know why, is all." The soft smirk around my lips falters and falls, and then suddenly I'm frownin'. Reminded suddenly and harshly of the fact that I'm about as dangerous to her right now as a great fluffy bunny rabbit. "You know I can't bite you."

"Technically, I don't know that," she tells me, pointing a finger at me. Or more accurately, at my head. "I haven't seen the thing in your head in action yet, I've just heard about it. Here." She shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. "When I wasn't, you know, alone with you."

And I'm wonderin' know how much of this nervousness has to do with her thinkin' about the last time she'd been alone with me. Still. Hadn't killed the little chit then, had I?

"Don't get me wrong," I say, leanin' back in the chair and stretchin' my legs out a little more. "It gets me all warm and fuzzy inside that even handicapped I can make that little heart of yours hammer away like that." Which is the truth. Flatterin', really. Unfortunately, the fact remains. "But _if_ I could kill you, Red, I would'a done it ten times over in the time we've been chattin'."

It looks like she thinks this over for a minute. Eyes still fixed on me, still lookin' more wary than she has any need to. Then finally she makes a face at me and says, "It probably says something about me that that actually made me feel better."

I smirk appreciatively at the little witch. "Probably."

* * *

Stupid vampire.

Stupid, selfish, _evil_ vampire.

"'Do whatever you like," I mock him childishly, doing a majorly bad impression as I do. "'I don't give a _bloody damn_.'" I stare down into the rapidly cooling bath water, letting the bar of Irish Spring soap drop from my hands and down into the tub with a splash as I mutter, "Jerk."

There's a sudden knock on the door, and my eyes whip toward it, caught off guard. But the knock is followed by a softly spoken, "Buffy?"

Willow to the rescue. Probably here with my change of clothes, and not a moment too soon. My skin is already getting water logged around my fingertips, and the water is lukewarm enough now to be considered uncomfortable. Honestly, I probably should have gotten out ten minutes ago, but the idea of going out and facing the bleached menace had been enough to keep me in here a little while longer.

That, and the fact that I hadn't had any clothes to change in to. I don't think walking out, dripping wet and wrapped in nothing more than a towel would have given the impression of cold, Slayer-like indifference I'd wanted.

I lean back in the tub, bringing my knees up to my chest. "Hey, Will."

"I have some clothes for you from the dorm," my friend tells me through the door. "I wasn't sure what you needed so I got kind of a little bit of everything. Do you want me to just…leave them out here?"

"That'd be great, thanks," I sigh, resigning myself to having to get up and leave the quiet little sanctuary of the bathroom. "I'll be out in a minute."

Willow replies with a chirpy sounding "okay" and then I hear the soft thud of fabric as its dropped to the floor outside the bathroom door. Leaning my head back to smack lightly against the porcelain tub's rim, I close my eyes and let the water swirl the now clean strands of my hair around my shoulders. Steeling myself to go back out and face Spike, to happily go around pretending like he hadn't spent the better part of the middle of the night last night kissing me breathless and making me ache and want him in all kinds of lusty, dirty ways. I open my eyes and repeat, for the millionth and hopefully final time, the same mantra I've been repeating in my head since I shut and locked the door behind me thirty minutes ago.

 _It hadn't been that great, anyway._

When I finally emerge from the bathroom ten or so minutes later, I feel a million times better than I had even just before getting in the bath. All Irish Springy and fresh, damp hair twisted over one shoulder, feeling a whole lot cleaner, and whole lot more...covered up. And I mean fully covered up. I'd chosen a pair of jeans and a long sleeve blouse from the pile of clothes Willow'd brought me.

I walk around the corner and amble toward the living room, taking one last steadying breath as I do, and stop a little short at the sight before me. Willow's sitting on one end of the couch, and Spike's sitting across from her in an overstuffed chair in the corner. He has one of Giles's books balanced and open in his lap. And the two of them are talking.

Animatedly.

About…something. I frown, brow furrowed as I step fully into the open doorway leading into the room.

"…get that part," Willow's saying, doing that thing where she talks a lot with her hands. "But this whole "leaving for our own good" thing? It's dumb."

"You'll get no argument from me," Spike agrees breezily, nodding his head in a show of solidarity. "Peaches has always been a selfish sod, says he's doin' right by everybody else but really he's just lookin' out for himself."

"Right?" Willow says excitedly, like she's finally found someone to talk to about the things that have been bugging her. "Oz was never like that. Well, not until he kinda…was. But even then—oh, hey Buff." She grins when she finally notices me standing in the doorway.

"Umm," I murmur, looking back and forth between the two of them. I notice how the vampire won't meet my eyes, like he's happy to pretend I'm not standing here at all. My eyes land on Willow's "Hey. Am I…interrupting something?"

She automatically moves to answer me, but Spike beats her to it.

"Just passin' the time 'til you saw fit to join us, Goldilocks," he says, his voice even and disinterested. Like he's bored. Or maybe like he's irritated I've come out and interrupted their conversation. Which is weird on an entirely different level. "Took you long enough. Bath must'a been a mighty relaxin' one." He turns cool eyes away from me and back to the book in his lap. "Nice and pruney, I see."

I glare at him, but he isn't paying any attention to me. He turns the book's page casually, not bothering to look back up at me. Like me being in the room is so completely, entirely inconsequential. And it makes me want to punch him in the nose.

I ignore him instead, turning toward Willow. "Thanks for the change of clothes-ery, Will. Much needed."

"No problemo." She smiles up at me, shifting a little on the couch so she can see me better in the doorway. "You really do look a lot better today."

"Yeah." I match her smile with one of my own, even though it feels weirdly forced. "At this point I'm thinking whatever our buddies at Lowell gave me was designed to wear off eventually. The medicine Giles gave me really helped too, I think."

"He mentioned something about that to me, too," she agrees, nodding her head. "I'm glad you're better today. I heard you had kind of a rough night last night."

I freeze, my eyes going a tiny bit wide and shifting automatically toward the vampire like they have a mind of their own. Thankfully, Willow doesn't take her eyes off me, but I don't miss the fact at all that Spike's suddenly choked on the sip he's just taken out of his mug.

"Just didn't sleep very well," I supply as casually as I can, remembering in the moment that I'm not supposed to know anything about the night last night being rough, or otherwise. In his chair, Spike's busy draining the rest of the contents of his mug and studiously not looking at me.

 _Real smooth_.

"Oh," she says quietly, casting her own furtive glance in the bleached blonde's direction before looking back at me. "Well, as long as you're better."

"Yep," I tell her brightly, stepping further into the room and tucking my hands in the pockets of my jeans. "I should be good to move back into the dorms tomorrow."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the vampire's gaze suddenly shift toward me. His shoulders tense, like the news comes as a surprise to him. And maybe not so much a welcome one.

The sense of satisfaction I feel from his reaction is dimmed only slightly by the fact that I should, in no way, be feeling any sort of satisfaction from anything the vampire does. Ever.

My stomach does a weird, rolling thing.

Willow at least looks happy with the news. "Great! Does that mean you'll be back in class tomorrow, too? I brought some stuff you missed in case you wanted to get caught up." She stands and walks around the couch, back in the direction of the stack of books I hadn't yet noticed sitting on top of Giles's table, beside his notepad. I frown at it, wrinkling my nose up.

"Oh, goody," I mutter, moving across the space toward her and lifting the top text book off the pile. "Homework. My favorite." I lift the second book, my eyes taking in the cover of our psychology 101 book's cover. A thought occurs to me, and I snap my gaze to Willow's. "Hey, was Riley in Walsh's class today?"

Willow shakes her head and says, "Conspicuously missing."

"Must've had a busy weekend," Spike mutters dryly, his voice low. But when I look back at him, his eyes are still focused down. He flips another page in the book. One I vaguely recognize as one of the dryer demonology something-or-other books Giles has in his massive collection of dry demonology books.

If he thinks _we_ think he's actually reading it, he has another think coming. He's not fooling anyone.

I choose to ignore him again, dropping the heavy book in my hand back down onto the pile with a thud. "Giles said you and Xander struck out at Lowell House today?"

"Yeah," she says, the smile that had been on her face falling a little. "Sorry, Buff. I know we were supposed to be all super sleuth and find their lab but they didn't exactly leave us alone to do much digging."

"Big surprise there," Spike quips, snapping the book in his lap shut and tossing it aside, letting it land with a thump on the rug below him. I can't tell if I'm imagining it or not, but I feel like his mood's gotten worse even since I've just been standing here talking to Willow.

"Well it might be for the best anyway," I tell her, crossing my arms over my chest. "I don't want you two going back there, and definitely not alone. Riley at least knows we're friends, so if it's me theses soldier guys are after it's only a matter of time before they figure out they can get to me through you."

"I sort of figured," Willow admits, offering a little shrug of her shoulders. "Kind of the way it always goes."

We both turn knowing glances on the vampire sitting in the chair behind us, and he stares back, his eyes narrowing as he glances back and forth between us. "Oh, what?" he says, clearly annoyed as he shoves himself up to his feet, empty mug in hand. "That bit's a classic."

Willow excuses herself to the bathroom then, leaving me very much alone with Spike. We stand there facing each other awkwardly, me with my arms folded tightly over my chest, and him with his empty mug-o-blood in one hand. The ugly green couch is the only thing that separates us.

"You told the Watcher you had a rough night last night?" he asks me suddenly, choosing his words carefully. His eyes are narrowed on me, and I get this wig worthy feeling that he's testing something. A theory maybe.

I force myself to meet his eyes and nod, tightening my arms across my chest. "Just that you and I had a…fight." I frown. It sounds even lamer repeating it back to him when I know he knows it isn't the whole truth. I'm just hoping he doesn't know that I know that he knows about our little make out session the night before.

Or something.

But Spike just keeps staring at me, tilting his chin back, then to the side so he can look at me through his lashes. When he asks the next question, he does it slowly. Thoughtfully. "We had a fight?"

Something in the way he's looking at me now is making me feel funny.

"All that stuff about Angel and Dru," I remind him, a little irritated. I don't know why he's asking me, but I'm being a little cautious now too. It isn't like he'd been all drugged up that whole time. I frown at him. "Remember? 'My relationship was better than yours'."

"Oh no, I remember that bit," he says simply, and I watch as he takes a few steps toward me. Slow, deliberate. He moves across the living room, slowly rounding the edge of the couch. Noticing for the first time how predatorily graceful his movements are. Or maybe it's less that I'm noticing for the first time and more that I'm noticing for the first time with a sexy context to apply those same movements to. He comes to a stop in front of me, long, dark lashes fluttering in way that's equal parts knowing and seductive as he leans forward and whispers, "And so do you."

I blink at him, brow furrowing. He's said it like it means something but I don't think I really understand what it is.

"Well, yeah…" I start to say dismissively, and then, a second too late, I remember something else. That I'd been just as fuzzy and high and not supposed to remember-y in the middle of that fight as I'd been when he'd been kissing me on the couch.

My eyes go wide.

Oh.

Spike's eyebrows raise knowingly.

Oh, no.

His lips start to curve up in a wicked smirk.

Oh, _God_.

I watch, frozen to the spot as he leans a little closer to me, his lashes fanning down to my waist, then very slowly back up. He cocks his head to the side, his lips feathering right beside my ear. And he whispers, "You remember _all_ of it."


	10. Chapter 10

_Think,_ my traitorous brain squeaks at me urgently, little red lights flashing behind my eyes _. Think fast._

"Remember all…of the fight?" I ask, my voice sort of casual and hard at the same time. I've made the split and maybe not so smart decision to just keep playing dumb. Holding my ground as I turn my head, I force myself to meet Spike's gaze as steadily as I can. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I?"

The vampire looks like he wants to laugh at that, but he doesn't. Instead, I watch his nostrils flare and he nods his head slowly. Not like he believes me, though. Like…he's a cat.

And I think I might be the mouse.

"Just wasn't sure, is all. You with that fever fuzzed brain of yours." Spike stays way, way too close to me, tilting his head to the other side. Like he's sizing me up. Like he's the predator and I'm the prey. His expression is hungry. "Seemed to think you wouldn't remember much of anythin' when we had our little tiff last night."

I swallow and say, "Yeah. I mean, I don't...remember much." I feel the sudden need to cross my arms over my chest, consciously pressing my elbows into his to keep him from getting any closer to me. "Just the fight."

I watch the slow curl of his lips and know that something, _something_ I've done or something I've said or something…else, has given me away.

" _Just_ the fight," Spike repeats, voice very low now. Again, agreeing with me but not. Again, not like he believes me at all. His sparkling eyes narrow, darkening just the tiniest bit as he murmurs, "Right."

And there's nothing sexual at all about the words. Nothing explicit, or implicit, or…any kind of _plicit_ at all, really. Nothing innuendo-y. Nothing seductive. It's not even the most could-possibly-pass-for-a-double-entrende thing he's ever said to me. So there's no excuse, none, not even the insiest bit of one for the sudden shiver that rockets down my back now. The subtle but oh so definitely _there_ catch in my throat, the abrupt rush of blood to my cheeks.

Still, I manage to mutter out a strained, "Right."

In response, Spike inhales deeply, long lashes fluttering against pale, angled cheeks. And I get the massively creep-tastic feeling that he can smell the blood pulsing under my skin now.

Damnit.

Damnit, damnit, _damnit._

"Oh, c'mon now," he says goadingly, lashes fanning down, then up. "Think you and I both know that's not true."

Pursing my lips tightly and fixing him with as hard a look as I can, I drop my voice down to a menacing low. One final, hanging off the edge of the cliff by my fingernails effort to stay squarely on the side of the _it never happened_ fence. "I don't know what you're talking about."

But Spike just chuckles.

The sound sends a tingle of a different kind skittering over my skin.

We both hear the bathroom door creak open at the same time, hear the shuffling sounds of Willow's footsteps coming back down the hall toward us. I flinch back away from him on instinct, which only makes that stupid smirk on his lips widen further.

"Don't worry, pet," he whispers, stepping past me so his lips are at my ear, his body now just slightly behind mine. "Dirty little secret's safe with me."

And then the presence of his body behind me is suddenly gone, stepping lithely away from me. The air I hadn't realized I'd been holding in escapes in a rush, and I turn around, feeling icy and hot everywhere all at the same time as I see Spike skirt casually past Willow and turn into the tiny kitchen.

God, is he _humming_?

Willow says something to me, but I barely hear it. I give her some cursory response that may or may not make sense. I don't know. I'm too busy glaring daggers at the bleached vamp whose back is to me, currently in the process of heating himself up a re-fill of blood. His words ringing in my ear.

 _Dirty little secret's safe with me._

When I catch him tossing me an entirely too smug sidelong glance through the open space over the tiny kitchen counter, I have to fight every instinct in my body not to reach down, pluck my heavy psych textbook off the table and throw it at his head.

* * *

Oh, she remembers alright.

How I'd managed to miss it before I've no bleeding clue. Just not lookin' for it, maybe. Not expectin' it. Maybe even thinkin' in the moment it'd be better if she didn't remember, no harm no bloody foul, can't rightly stake me for somethin' she didn't remember me doin'.

But now that I know she knows…that she knows I know _she_ knows…every little move she makes is a tell.

It's so _painfully_ obvious now.

So completely obvious that the heat I'd been feelin' coming off her earlier in the hallway hadn't just been her fever.

No. She remembers. And she hadn't said anythin' about it. Still has yet to make one single threat at me. Her blood pumps just a little harder, a little hotter, when she thinks I'm gettin' to close for comfort. Not to mention to piece de resistance…the hallway in front of the buggering bathroom. Slayer'd stood there and not only let me touch her without a fuss, but in not so many words _asked_ me to touch her again.

Thinkin' now that all that can only mean one thing.

That she _liked_ it.

Yeah. Not only does the cheeky minx remember all the things she'd let me do to her last night, but I'll be damned if she hadn't _enjoyed_ it. Little Miss Buffy might like to play at being all prim and proper in the light, all self-righteous and holier than thou, but I'm startin' to think I know a bit more about the girl than even she knows herself. She might be more'n happy to pretend that nothin' happened now. To go through the bright, shiny light of day under this pathetic pretense of hers. And I'll let her, too. Let the girl have her fun. Let her play her little game.

The daylight hours are hers, after all.

But the nighttime's all mine.

It's kind of adorable, really. The way she's fightin' so hard to ignore me now. Doesn't even realize how those sneaky little glances of hers are givin' herself more and more away by the second.

She keeps lookin' at me from across the room, like she thinks I'm a tickin' time bomb she has to diffuse. Wide eyes dartin' back to me whenever she thinks I'm not lookin', whenever I dare to open my mouth and say somethin' to Red or the Watcher. Her shoulders keep tensin' up, all that delicious Slayer blood pumpin' wildly through her veins, throbbing at the pulse point at her throat. Christ, makes me want to close my mouth over it and suck the tender flesh into my mouth.

I won't though. Not yet anyway.

Meant what I'd told the chit earlier. Secret's safe with me.

While I might be gettin' all warm and toasty over the idea that seducing the Slayer is now an option that's so very much on the table, and a right bit easier than I'd ever imagined it'd be, too…but if the daft bint thinks I _want_ this gettin' out, she's got another think comin'. Jesus. Somethin' like this gets out and that's it for my reputation. Whatever reputation I have left, anyway. And Dru.

Oh, bloody fuck, if Dru ever found out about this…

No.

There's absolutely nothin' about this little thing between us, whatever it is, gettin' out that's good for me. Not until I have this sodding thing in my head taken off or removed or disabled and I can get out and put my own bloody spin on things.

Doesn't mean I can't get as much out of it as I can in the meantime, though, yeah?

"So, what are we thinking?" the Slayer asks, her fingers fiddling absently with the high neck of the shirt she's wearin'. "Lowell House and the commando lab are in different locations?"

"Not necessarily," Giles tells her, hoverin' from his spot over by the sofa. "Just because Willow didn't find any evidence of the lab inside the house, it doesn't mean it isn't...there."

"Just probably super hidden or something," Red adds, her voice just a touch too high and chirpy for my taste. "I mean, if these guys aren't wanting their cover blown I don't think they'd be keeping their incriminating Slayer drugs lying out for just anyone to see."

I watch the Slayer nod, pluck one more time at the dark fabric at the neck of her blouse distractedly.

She's been doin' it all afternoon. It hadn't gotten past me, the fact that she'd chosen clothing from the witch that covered as much of her skin as possible. In hindsight, that should've been a bloody dead giveaway to begin with that she remembered more about the night before than she'd been lettin' on. Three years knowin' the bint and as far as I know she's never given one wit what she's worn in front of me. Now all a sudden she's coverin' every inch of herself up?

Mighty convenient, that.

"Well, I still want to go look into it," she's sayin' now, her eyes darting back and forth between the witch and the Watcher.

And if her clothing of choice hadn't been a dead giveaway, the fact that she's chompin' at the bloody bit to get away from me certainly is. Oh, ready to move back into that ruddy dorm room tomorrow is she? Just like that. 'S not like she still isn't sick. 100 degrees might not be 106 but it's not _nothin'_ either. Plenty high enough still to scramble the average human brain. Which is probably why the girl thinks goin' out in search of the commandos tonight is a good idea.

Just chock full of those today, she is.

The Slayer's eyes flick to mine again as Giles is answerin' one of Red's questions. Wide and luminous, cautious. And as soon as they lock with mine, a delicious pink hue splashes across her cheekbones.

She's been doin' that all afternoon, too. Every time I catch her lookin' at me, like bloody clock work. She looks away like a little frightened bunny and her cheeks go from tawny gold to bright red.

Makes my mouth water, the fangs itch to descend from my gums. And all I want to do is keep makin' her do that, again and again.

Until she's ready to admit it to me.

And she will.

I lean back in my chair and tuck my hands behind my head, arch my hips up as I drop one foot down to the floor and leave the other propped on the footrest. Making a show of gettin' comfortable, watchin' through my lashes as the Slayer's eyes go immediately to the spot between my legs. She doesn't look away immediately this time, her eyes darting up to my face, takin' in my half closed eyes, then right back down again.

Her pretty pink tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, and my cock strains even harder against the denim her eyes are riveted to.

Oh, yeah. By the end of the night, she'll have admitted it to me.

 _And a whole bloody lot more._

I fight the urge to smirk proudly, my demon already snarling and howling at the prospect. All the dirty, delicious things I'm goin' to get to do to my sweet, supple Slayer.

I shift purposefully on the chair again and she balks, practically jumpin' out of her skin when she realizes what she's just been doing. Immediately ducking her gaze and quickly askin' her Watcher a question that I don't bother to listen to.

I'm too busy plannin' out the rest of our evening.

* * *

When Willow finally says her goodbyes and stands up at the end of the afternoon to head back to the dorm, Giles excuses himself to walk her to the front door, citing he has a few more questions to ask her and needs her assistance with…something or other. I don't know. I'm not really paying attention to what they're saying.

Because as soon as the two of them had gotten up, Spike had gotten up from his chair, too.

And stretched.

His movements slow and purposeful, he lifts his arms up over his head, letting the hem of his black t-shirt ride up a little and exposing a small section of the smooth, creamy skin just above the waistband of his dark jeans. My eyes shoot to it automatically, zeroing in with a laser like focus. The hard angle of his hips jutting out over the waistband of his jeans, the fine little trail of hair disappearing just below his belt buckle. I swallow, my mouth suddenly gone completely and bizarrely dry.

By the time I realize what I've just done, it's too late. My eyes shoot back up to the vampire's face in time to find him gazing knowingly down at me. Eyes sparkling, lips curved. And before I can say anything he's gone, moving back toward Giles's kitchen.

 _Oh, boy._

I sit stone still on the edge of the couch for maybe a half a second before I launch myself back to my feet, storming purposefully after him.

I corner him at the back of the kitchen where he's just sat his blood stained mug down on the counter top beside the sink. He doesn't look even a little bit surprised to see me standing in front of him, which bugs even more than his so totally obvious displays of everyone-look-at-the-sexy-vampire all afternoon.

"Will you _stop_ doing that?" I hiss through clenched teeth at the bleached blonde, keeping my voice low enough that I'm sure only he can hear me.

Spike doesn't answer right away. Just smirks, his eyes sparking a little as he eyes me through his lashes and leans his head back. He turns away from the countertop and asks breezily, "Somethin' bothering you, pet?"

"You," I say instantly, my voice sharp. Not caring what admitting this to him might possibly mean. "You are bothering me."

"And how exactly am I managing that?" he asks, feigning surprise and a little righteous indignation to boot.

I shift a half step back from him, eyes blazing. Like he doesn't _know_. Like he doesn't know exactly, painfully, so majorly what he's doing. What he's been doing all afternoon.

Like he doesn't know that I know that he knows I know…

Whoa. Thinking headache.

I turn to glance through the little open partition of the kitchen that looks out into the apartment's entryway, watching Giles and Willow exchanging low murmured words. Satisfied that they aren't paying attention to us, I turn and step back into the hidden back area, narrow my eyes at Spike. Leaning a little closer to him, I whisper, "You know what you're doing."

And, God. My fingers itch to reach up and smack that stupid, smug expression off his stupid, perfect face.

"Do I?" The vampire asks, both of his dark brows shooting up. How one person can manage to be so self-righteously innocent and evil all at once is mind blowing to me. "Far as I can tell I haven't done a blessed thing to you, luv." Then he pauses, tongue curling wickedly. "Well, not _today_ anyway."

My mouth drops open, a choked sputtering sound escaping before I can stop it. Face on fire, stomach doing this weird twisty thing, I say the only thing I can think to in the moment. "Shut up, Spike."

All this seems to do is fuel the vampire's make-Buffy-blush fire, because he chuckles, looking so incredibly pleased with himself. And I watch from my spot as he suddenly shifts around and leans toward me, blocking me into the hidden back wall of the kitchen. He leans forward, eyes smoldering, and stops barely an inch away from my face to issue the end all, be all of challenges.

"Make me."

And I think about it.

In this one moment. This brief, temporary flash of total and complete insanity washes over me, and I think about it. How easy it would be. How there's already not that much space between us. All I'd have to do is tilt my chin back and inch forward and my lips would be pressed against his. God, it would be so easy.

And he smells _so_ good.

And I want to, I realize distantly. Somewhere in the back of my head space where I like to shove inconvenient little truths. I realize it as my eyes trail away from his, down to his mouth. I want to.

I want to kiss Spike again. And I don't have any drugs or some fevered delirium to blame it on, either.

"Slayer," he whispers suddenly, the sound of my title leaving his lips on a rumbled growl. But not an angry one.

No.

A warning, I think. But as I force my eyes away from the swell of his bottom lip and back to his eyes, I can't tell what kind of warning it is. Can't tell as I swallow once, hard, knowing I should probably be moving now. That I should be bringing my fist up to pop him in the nose any second now. That this whole thing is a veritable Olympic sized pool of bad.

But when Spike shifts toward me and braces his palms flat on the wall on either side of my head, I just stand there and let him.

"Just admit it," he urges me silkily, his voice impossibly smooth and low. The scent of smoke and leather and blood filing the space between us, making my head spin.

"Admit what?" I ask, keeping my voice hard. As cool and calm and unaffected as possible.

He leans a little closer to me, closing the small gap one millimeter at a time. Tilting his head to the side, his gaze dropping to my mouth then up to my eyes again, he says, "That you remember."

He doesn't have to say the rest of it for me to hear it, loud and clear, in my head. The rest of what he wants me to admit. What I'll be accidentally admitting the minute I cave and admit to the first part. The various version of just what exactly I remember bouncing around hollowly in spinny head.

 _That you remember last night._

 _That you remember the things I did to you._

 _That you remember that you liked it._

And just then, the front door slams shut. I jump, my mouth almost accidentally bumping into Spike's as I do. I duck under his arm and bolt out of the boiling hot kitchen and back into the open living room space. Cheeks flushed, body throbbing in a hungry anticipation I barely even recognize, I turn toward Giles and ask brightly, "So, what's for dinner?"

And I make a mental note never to try and corner Spike again.

* * *

 _Fuck_ me.

Somehow through the course of the afternoon and into the early evening, with Red here, the little cat and mouse game I'd been playin' with the Slayer, and then that glorious almost confession I'd nearly stolen from her in Watcher's cramped kitchen…I'd managed to completely forget.

All those bloody magnificent daydreams in my head? Those moments I'd been so carefully and cleverly cultivating all afternoon. Her hot, whispered confession that she remembers the whole sodding night, every delicious, sordid detail. Her subsequent beggin' me on no uncertain terms to have my very wicked way with her.

And then, of course, her complete and total sexual submission to me. Which I've rationalized as honestly bein' the only thing on the planet that might possibly be better than killin' her in the first place.

But none of that's gonna mean a bloody buggering fuck if she goes off and gets herself soldier-napped before any of it can happen.

Stubborn, self-righteous bint. Even when I'm not actively tryin' to kill the girl she manages to cock up my plans. I'd been so busy tryin' to get her to blush, tryin' to force her hand in this little game she's got goin', that I hadn't bothered to pay any attention at all to anythin' the three of 'em had been discussing. Hadn't paid enough attention to notice whether or not Red had managed to talk the Slayer down off the ledge or not.

Obviously, the little witch hadn't managed a buggering thing.

I'd only been reminded of it when she and Giles had finished up their supper and she'd made a big show of startin' in on the homework Red had dropped off for her. A few minutes in, she'd mentioned to the old man that she thought her fever was pickin' back up again, and asked if he had any more of the medicine he'd given her the night before.

But then I'd spotted the saucy minx pocket the pills, and I'd known she was up to somethin'. Of course, when she'd 'passed out' cold on the sofa not half an hour later, fully clothed, shoes and all…I'd been able to use the half a mite of deductive reasoning it'd take for anyone to figure out what the hell she'd been up to to figure out she was fakin' it.

Why the chit had felt the need to go through such an elaborate little ruse just to get the Watcher to toddle off to bed, glass of scotch in hand, half an hour earlier than he might have otherwise…well, I don't rightly know. Though I'd wager it has somethin' to do with the fever still doin' a number on that brain of hers.

* * *

It's gotta be this fever. This still a little too high for comfort fever.

It's the only reason I'm lying on this couch pretending to be asleep, counting down every too-long second before I can finally get up and get the heck out of dodge. It's gotta be the fever that's making me think about Spike. That's not letting me not think about Spike. That's making me think that I should've just kissed him in the kitchen. Should've just done it, all sober and un-foggy and everything, and gotten it completely out of my system.

Because now all I can think about is how I wonder if he actually tastes as good as I'm remembering. If those platinum curls really are that soft. If he really does make those chesty, rumbling purring noises when he's... _pleased_ by something.

And that's all...it's just...I mean, _no_.

I'm not exactly sure why I'd felt the need to pretend to take medicine and pass out on the couch.

At the time, it had seemed like the most logical way of getting me what I wanted— Giles off my back for the night and Spike and his perfect, pouty lips to leave me alone.

Now, though, I realize I could have just as easily found a way to convince my Watcher to have an extra-large glass of scotch after dinner and simply kept avoiding making eye contact with the bleached vamp like I'd been doing all night.

Not that that had been overly difficult. I hadn't exactly wanted to be all with the looking into his too-blue hypno eyes after that particularly close call in the kitchen, anyway.

Even so, this plan seems to have worked out just fine. Or...is working out just fine. So far.

I guess now is as good a time as any to test how well the rest will work.

Staying as quiet as I can, hyper aware not to let any type of coil springy or wood creaking sounds escape as I do, I sit up and slowly peel myself off the couch.

Across from me, said stupid bleached menace of a vampire is lounging in the big chair by the book shelves. His head tipped back, eyes closed.

He's been like that for at least fifteen minutes.

Carefully, as quietly as I can, I toss the blanket off my fully dressed body and get to my feet, only a tiny bit unsteady at first this time. I maneuver around the couch and move quickly, on my tip toes, toward the front door. Reaching it in a matter of seconds, I use my left hand to throw back the deadbolt, wrap the fingers of my right around the door knob and start to turn it.

"Where you think you're off to, then?"

I freeze in place, fingers tightening involuntarily around the cool metal and shoulders tensing at the rumbling timbre of his voice.

I really could've sworn he'd been sleeping. Or at least…pretending to be sleeping. It's so hard to tell, it isn't like vamps snore. Can't snore if you can't breathe.

I don't turn around to look at him, just keep my eyes focused straight ahead on the front door and murmur, "Go away, Spike."

"Where exactly would you like me to go, pet?" The vampire counters on a dismissive chuckle. "This bloody flat is the size of a match box."

"Fine," I hiss, chancing a quick glance at him from over my shoulder and fighting the urge to jump. He's no longer sitting in the overstuffed chair, but standing with his arms crossed casually over his chest, hip leaning against the wooden table. Like, five feet away from me.

Creepy, ninja-like vampire stealth. Maybe Xander'd been on to something about the whole collar with a bell thing…it'd have to be a leather one.

I swallow, realizing when the bleached vamp raises an expectant eyebrow that I haven't finished my thought yet.

I clear my throat and mumble, "Just…shut up, then."

Spike stares at me for a minute. Unmoving, his position now mirroring mine. Then he pushes his hip off the table and takes a step toward me. His eyes narrow, and he asks, "You're really goin' through with this?"

I feel my jaw clench.

God, _why_ is everyone being so dramatic about this? And especially Spike. Spike, who up until a couple nights ago, or last night, had been single mindedly focused on my inevitable demise. Suddenly he's all with the getting involved in _my_ business?

I roll my eyes up to the ceiling and try to ignore the flash of…whatever I might have just seen in the vampire's eyes, defensively folding my arms over my chest. "I'm not 'going through' with anything," I say quietly, sighing. Annoyed. "I'm just going to look. No touching. No fighting. Like…window shopping." I shrug, voice raising a little higher. "For clues."

"'S a bad idea, Slayer," he tells me, his voice still low but no longer mocking or smug.

Like he really thinks this is a bad idea. Which I guess I already knew, technically. He'd told me as much before. He just hadn't looked…like this before. Hadn't had a distant flickering flash of what might actually be real concern in his eyes.

But that can't be right, so I ignore the little jolt in my stomach the fleeting image has caused and instead glare at him.

And what? He thinks I'm just going to listen to him now? Just because of the truce. Or because of whatever he thinks I remember about last night. Like somehow me knowing what the weight of his body feels like pressing down into mine or me spending an hour thinking about the feel of his tongue against my skin means he can just up and tell me what to do? That I'll actually _listen_?

Please.

"And you care _why_?" I press him, shoving those wig worthy thoughts aside and raising my eyebrows. I tilt my head to the side. "Last I checked you didn't give a 'bloody damn' what I do." I put the stupid, Britishy phrase in air quotes, watching the muscle in his jaw tick as I do.

Spike's eyes flash and his expression darkens, any possible trace of concern vanishing as he drops his arms down to his sides. "I don't."

And I have no idea why that bothers me.

"Then keep your opinions to yourself," I tell him harshly, matching his icy glare with one of my own. Then I whirl around on my heel and reach for the door knob again. I grip it and start to turn, but the vampire's low, growling voice stops me.

"Buffy—"

My eyes go wide and I freeze again.

* * *

 _Oh, balls._

I wince, screwin' my eyes shut and tightening my hands into fists. "I mean, Slayer."

 _You daft wanker._

Hadn't meant to call the girl by her bleeding name, had I? No. _Fuck_ no. It just bloody slipped out.

And way too damn easily for my liking.

But she doesn't call me on it, so I do the only thing I can think to do.

Keep talkin'.

"If you'd quit bein' so bloody stubborn for two buggering seconds and just think about this rationally. You _can_ do that, can't you?" I ask mockingly, makin' my voice come out hard and cold. "That Clairol hasn't gone all to your brain?"

She scoffs at that, turnin' back round over her shoulder to glare at me. "Because you're one to talk about dye jobs gone wrong."

I snort dismissively, lettin' a sharp burst of air out through my nose and tilt my head to the side. Tryin' to hide the fact that I'm so bloody relieved she hasn't thrown my mistake back in my face.

Not yet at least.

"Least I can still be rational," I tell her sharply, enjoyin' it far more than I should when her cheeks flood with color and her eyes flash angrily.

Fuckin' brilliant. Every time.

Don't have a lot of time to daydream this time about all that lovely blood, though. How it might taste…thick and hot on my tongue, spiced with adrenaline and arousal in the middle of what I'm goddamned certain would be mind blowin' sex, because she suddenly asks me, "Why do you care what I do?"

I blink a few times, shakin' my head and forcing myself to meet the Slayer's eyes again. Bloody hell, had I been starin' at her neck?

"Christ," I snarl at her, coverin' for the distraction her flush had caused. "I already told you I _don't_." _Reason. Fuck, need a bloody reason_ …ha! I raise my eyebrows pointedly and ask, "But how keen you think you're Watcher's gonna be on helpin' me out if somethin' happens to you and I didn't try and stop it?"

I watch her watchin' me as she thinks this bit over. Then her eyes narrow just a touch, and I'm wonderin' if I've somehow still managed to cock this up.

And then she opens that infuriatingly luscious mouth of hers, and I know I have.

"I thought you said you didn't need Giles's help."

The smug smile slips off my face.

 _Bugger._

"Uh, yeah," I say quickly, noddin' my head. Then just as quickly, "Well I don't. But I might. Or, I don't…" I trail off, snap my mouth closed and clench my jaw. Stupid bint. She'd been playin' like she couldn't remember a sodding thing and now all of a sudden she remembers everythin' I've ever bloody said? Just picks and chooses as she's fit. Fuckin' typical. I should've expected as much. I narrow my eyes at her again and growl, "Bloody hell, would you just listen to someone other than yourself for once?"

She turns fully back round to face me at that, foldin' her arms over her chest again and raising her eyebrows up high. "I'm listening."

My eyes automatically widen, blinking at her.

Fuck.

Didn't think that'd actually work.

"Well, just think about it for half a mo'," I say slowly, rackin' my brain now for somethin' else to say. Somethin' I haven't already said. Any reason but the real reason I'm standing here and tryin' so bloody hard to convince her not to go, which doesn't even bare thinkin' about now. But I can't think of one goddamn thing, not _one_. Not with the way she's lookin' at me. I clear my throat and try, "What happens if those tin soldiers catch you out?"

Slayer's starin' evenly at me, this little smirk on her lips now that makes me want to bite at them, pull them into my mouth and force her to make that gasping little moan. "They won't."

Cocky and stubborn. Two of the traits I've always hated most about this sunshiny Slayer. Usually cause it makes her so bloody hard to beat. Right now, 'cause it's gonna get the stupid bint killed.

Right then. There doesn't seem to be anythin' else for it.

"And you're so certain," I press, shiftin' toward her slowly. Crossin' the space left between us until she has to tilt her head back to keep eye contact with me. "Got yourself a crystal ball, do you?"

I can practically feel the thud of her hear beat against my chest. The throb of her pulse echoin' in my head. She holds her ground, tenacious chippy she is, lettin' me get all the way into her little personal bubble. And my mouth starts to water as her lashes flutter and her eyes blaze defiantly.

"If they catch me, which they _won't_ , then I'll just fight them off." She reaches out and presses her hot little hand into my chest, uses it to shove me back about half a step. "I've done it before."

 _Christ, she smells delicious._

"Yeah," I counter, drawin' the word out nice'n slow. Her hand is practically burnin' me through my shirt. "With help from yours truly. Wouldn'a made it out that hallway if it hadn't been for me, and you know it."

Somethin' I've said jars her, and her eyes snap down to the hand she still has pressed against me. She pulls it away in a flash, leavin' that particular spot on my chest feeling colder than usual. Good though. Good she's done that, before I'd had a chance to do what it is I'd suddenly wanted to do. Grab her wrist, use it to haul her body flat against mine.

I stare at her, eyes narrowed, watchin' her chest rise and fall a little too quickly.

Maybe I could just shove her back into the door. Looks sturdy enough.

Have to be real quiet though…and that's a right shame, if you ask me. Never been a big fan of quiet shags.

"Then I'll run," she says suddenly, responding to a comment I'd already forgotten about makin'. "I do still have Slayer speed."

"Run away," I murmur, tilting my head to the side. Fightin' harder than I should bloody have to keep my eyes up on hers and not drifting down. "On legs you hadn't trusted to hold you upright in the shower not twelve hours ago?"

My cock jumps to attention at that, and I grit my teeth.

Shouldn'a mentioned the buggering shower.

"Fine," is all the Slayer says to me now. Plantin' her hands on her hips, she asks, "What's your genius idea then?"

I blink at her, my eyes driftin' down a ways then quickly back up. I frown. What'd she say? "What?"

Fuck, that heavin' chest of hers is bloody distracting.

"Well, you're all trigger happy, shooting down all _my_ ideas." She gestures toward me. "What's yours?"

I give her a deadpan look, brow furrowed. Frustrated and still a little more preoccupied than I'd like to be by the sound of her blood pulsin' in the hollow of her throat. "How bout not gettin' caught and treated like an overgrown lab rat?"

"Ugh, whatever," she says, her patience obviously runnin' out. "I'm going. You can either stay here and keep your mouth shut or come with me and make yourself useful. I really don't care."

That one little sentence clears my head right up as I narrow my eyes at her.

Oh, she _doesn't_ , does she? Well fine.

That makes two of us.

I clamp my mouth shut, eyes flashin' dangerously as I lean toward her and whisper, "Think I've had my fill of bein' experimented on, thanks."

Her eyes flash in return, and just for a second I think I catch that same little flicker of genuine hurt I'd seen earlier in the afternoon. But her expression hardens again before I can really tell.

"Fine," she says sharply.

"Fine," I say back.

She purses her lips and narrows shinin' hazel eyes on me before she says it one last time. "Fine."

We stare at each other for what feels like a bloody long time, neither of us makin' a move to speak, or to walk away. Finally, I take a step toward her. Don't rightly know why. There's somethin' just there on the tip of my tongue that I want to say, but probably shouldn't. Won't, if I know what's good for me.

Not that knowin' what's good for me's ever stopped me from doin' something stupid before now.

Bint doesn't give me a chance to get it out, though.

As soon as I step toward her she bolts. Turns on her heel and pulls the front door open, dashing out into the darkness, disappearing out past the flat's porch light just as the door shuts again behind her.

Oh, _bloody hell_.

I growl low in the back of my throat and move for the door, grabbin' my duster off the Watcher's coat rack and throwing it on, yanking the front door back open and blowing through it and out into the night.

* * *

Spike catches up to me when I'm about halfway to campus.

I'm more than surprised when I feel his familiar, particular tingle shoot down my back, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. Surprised enough that it actually causes my steps to falter, I only just avoid tripping and falling flat on my face. Because _that_ wouldn't put that smug smirk firmly back on the vamp's face all night.

But I _am_ surprised. Like, really. I'm surprised that he's come after me. I'm surprised that he's changed his mind.

But more than that, I'm kind of glad.

I mean, no. Not because he'd come after me, but because I honestly hadn't been all super jazzed about coming in contact with any of the commandos all alone. He's still trailing behind me a little ways, not right up next to me, but close enough that my tinglies are firing. Close enough that I can smell the faint scent of cigarettes and aged leather on the breeze that's drifting up from the south. Whether he knows that I've realized that he's there or not is still up in the air, though.

Or it is, until I get tired of pretending I don't know he's there and just decide to call him on it.

"What do you want, Spike?"

I don't have to be looking at him to picture the glare he's aiming at my back as he says, "'S a bloody loaded question, pet."

 _Oh, I'll just bet it is._

"I thought you weren't coming," I say flatly, hoping my voice is cold enough to hide the tinge of appreciation in the words.

Spike sighs, sounding exhausted. Like of the two of us, _I'm_ the exhausting one. He mutters, "You didn't leave me much choice."

" _Sure_ I did," I say lightly, falsely casual. "I believe I said…'you can stay here' shortly followed by I really don't care''." I pick up my pace just a tiny bit, the heels of my boots clomping a little too hard into the cement. "And you said 'fine'."

"You're bloody insufferable," he barks at me, a loudish whisper-yell. "You know that?"

"And you're majorly annoying," I counter, not stopping my stride. "I guess we all have our little quirks."

Behind me, Spike suddenly growls. A low, angry warning, making my tingles go all haywire and light up the little section of my brain that scream the words _watch it_ really, really loudly in the back of my head. And then he says it.

" _Buffy_."

It's the sound of my name again, for the second time tonight, that does it. Has me freezing in place on the sidewalk just on the edge of campus, a pleasant shiver running down my spine. Because this time it had been very much on purpose. Not an accidental slip, and not one that he's trying to cover up now. He's just…said it. My name. In reference to _me_.

Still, I don't think he'd expected it to have much impact. Expected it to make me freeze on a dime.

So he's obviously caught off guard when I suddenly stop walking and whirl around to face him and ask, point blank, "Why did you kiss me, Spike?"

He stops dead in his tracks just shy of running directly into me. Falls back a half step, blinks long, fluttering lashes at me. His eyes search mine for a long moment, deep navy in the moonlight. Startled, but still calculating. Then finally, after what feels like forever, he furrows his brow and asks, "What's that now?"

I fight the instinctive urge to roll my eyes. "You heard me."

"I did, yeah," he agrees slowly, nodding his head in time with the words. Then his eyes flash, and a slow, smug smirk starts to curve his lips. "Just like to hear it again is all."

I should hit him. Really. I should just reach up and land one good, solid punch right to the bridge of his nose. Wipe that stupid expression off his face. I should. I even kind of want to.

But I don't.

Instead, I find myself doing what he's asked.

"Why did you kiss me last night?" I press him, planting my hands on my hips. "I was all high and fevery and fried egg brain, but you...you were _fine_. You want me to admit it? Sure. Here's me, all with the big admission. We kissed. A lot." I pause for a second after that, letting it sink in, settle around us like a thick layer of dust. His smirk is so singularly wicked, and so unfairly seductive, that I have to look away from it. I clear my throat, lower my voice and murmur, "We...kissed. And I…"

"Liked it," Spike supplies casually, and I whip my eyes back up to his. They're smoldering at me now.

" _Ugh_ ," I groan, wrinkling my nose up and shaking my head. "I _so_ did no...okay, maybe." I take a moment to enjoy the look of utter disbelief on his face at that before continuing on. "But, hello? Again, I was high." I find myself stepping a little closer to him, putting myself right into his personal space and narrowing my eyes. A beat passes. And I lean toward him and ask, "What was _your_ excuse?"

Spike doesn't answer me right away. He opens his mouth to, then shuts it again. He does that a couple times, actually. Like he's thinking really hard about what it is he should say before he says it. Maybe wondering whether he should be honest or lie. Which one would be less incriminating in the end. And I watch the vampire's face, more intently than I'd like to admit, as he finally opens his mouth like he's going to say something.

And then something happens.

The breeze picks up and blows toward us, whipping my hair around in front of my face. And something shifts. An electric sort of charge in the air. I don't think I would have noticed at all if Spike hadn't been standing so close beside me. His muscles tense, a low growl tearing from somewhere near his chest. Things grow incredibly still for a half second. And then I watch as Spike suddenly takes off, turning from the sidewalk and over the clipped quad green, running toward the cover of some tall bushes a few yards to our left. I stare after him for a moment, blinking. Confused.

And then I follow, not really sure what else to do.

I'm not quite as fast as I normally am, so obviously I'm still not all up and total Slayery again yet, but I'm still not that far behind the vampire. I reach the edge of the lawn and the safety of the bushes just as Spike dives to the grass behind them. I stand there staring down at him, brow furrowed, as he flips over onto his back, reaching up and grabbing me hard around the wrist before I can ask why. Yanking me roughly to the ground in one fast, fluid motion.

And pulling me down directly on top of him in the process.

I land sort of sprawled on top of him, my body fully covering his, the tip of my nose brushing against the tip of his. My eyes widen and I attempt to scramble off him immediately, but Spike already has one steel band of an arm wrapped around my waist to keep me in place. Sputtering indignantly, cheeks flushing hot, I brace my palms on either side of his head and lift mine up as far as his grip on me allows. Which isn't much. Just enough so I can get in a good, solid glare down at him.

"Okay, what the _hell_ are you do—" I'm cut off forcefully by a cold hand snaking between our bodies, his palm covering my mouth and muffling the rest of my question. My first instinct is to bite him, but somehow I don't think that'll make much of a difference to him.

God, he'd probably even like it.

"Shh," the vampire hisses, his eyes flashing and his voice so low and soft I can barely hear it. "You want your pals to find us?"

I think that over for a second, putting two and two together and guessing that by pals he doesn't actually mean Willow and Xander. Then, the skin of his palm still cool and wiggily soft against my lips, I shake my head no.

"Good girl," he murmurs, and the words are so stupidly condescending that the fact that they have my inner muscles clenching is enough to make my cheeks flood with a mix of heat and shame. Spike's probably noticed, but he doesn't say anything. Just gives me one last warning look before slowly pulling his hand away from my mouth. Effectively leaving a little less than half an inch of breezy California night air between our faces.

And then it's silent. Still breathing a little heavily from my sprint, my chest heaving against his as I pull in quick, quiet breaths through my nose.

I could do it, I realize.

I could kiss him again. Right here, right now. Get him out of my system. Prove to myself once and for all that it hadn't been all that great last night. That the fever and the drugs and all the things Spike had said moments before about Parker and Angel being selfish and stupid had all worked together to play a giant trick on my hazy Buffy brain. That there's no _way_ his lips can possibly feel that good against mine. That he doesn't _actually_ know all the very best things to do with that curling, wicked tongue.

I could do it right now. One quick, experimental kiss. Here in the dark, hidden behind these massive bushes. No one would ever have to know. It would never happen again. I'd never _want_ it to happen again.

So I do it.

I lean down and plant a quick, open mouthed kiss on Spike's lips. It's impossibly fast, maybe a full second at most, but still somehow enough time for a little electric jolt to shoot through me, my skin prickling in goose bumps hidden beneath my clothes. I pull away almost as quickly as I'd leaned forward, leaving behind a little smacking sound as I do. I blink down at him, and my eyes are as wide as his are, I think.

"What-" he begins to ask, but I shake my head immediately. Whether I'm saying I don't know _what_ , or if I'm just not ready to answer, or I just don't want him to talk yet...I'm not sure.

We just stare at each other for a minute. His eyes open, gleaming in the moonlight and impossible to read. I feel the weight of my upper body pressing into his, the grass cool and slightly damp where my fingers are curling into it. The way his arm has tightened its hold on my lower back just slightly, just enough that I have to shift my legs a little to either side of his hips to keep my balance.

For one tense moment, everything goes still around us. Not even the breeze blows. Our gazes locked, mouths open, an inch away...then a half inch...then less…And when he finally growls and lifts his head off the ground, claiming my mouth in a violent, bruising kiss, I have to dig my nails deep into the wet ground to keep everything around me, the world itself, from spinning and tilting off its axis.

I only have one fleeting thought before I moan into his mouth and melt into him completely.

 _He tastes even better than I'd remembered._


	11. Chapter 11

I've got to start actually thinkin' through things before I do 'em.

Least, that's what I'm thinkin' now anyway. Lyin' on my back in the wet grass, hidden behind a wall of shrubbery with an armful of hot, wrigglin' Buffy.

I mean, Slayer.

 _Bugger_.

Thank my lucky fuckin' stars I'd caught a whiff of commando comin' down wind of us when I had, because I'd had no idea what to tell her when she'd asked me why I'd kissed her last night. Not one soddingclue. Up until that point I hadn't even expected her to admit it. Not without puttin' up more of a fight. And Christ, never in a million bloody years did I ever actually think the Slayer'd admit to likin' it. I'd known as much already, o'course. But to hear her say it. No, hadn't seen that comin'. Maybe that's why I hadn't been able to come up with a proper answer to her question, then. When she'd whirled round and demanded I explain to her why I kissed her, green eyes fiery and cheeks flush and pink, I'd been distracted. And the words _it seemed like a bloody good idea at the time_ had popped into my head first. Immediately after that, somethin' along the lines of _there hadn't been anythin' better to do_. And just after that, one word.

 _Fuck_.

Because _fuck_ all if I don't know. I don't bloody know why I kissed the bint, what it was I'd been tryin' to accomplish. Yeah, okay, I'd done a right good job convincin' myself that I could get away with it. She'd been two sheets to the wind, fevered and drugged out of her gourd, and I'd figured she wouldn't remember. I'd figured _she_ wouldn't remember. That's what I'd been thinkin' about her side of things. But what the bloody hell had I been thinkin' about _me_. Sure, seducin' the Slayer had been a mighty appealing idea. And I'd be lyin' through my bloody teeth if I said I hadn't wanted...fuck, if I hadn't _thought_ about doin' those things to her long before last night. Christ, I'd had deranged fantasies fillin' my head with her for months after leavin' Sunnyhell the first time. But that…I mean _that_ had only been natural, yeah? Buffy might have been the Slayer but she'd still been a hot little blonde with perfect tits. Golden skin and honey hair and movin' like a goddamn teenager's wet dream durin' a fight. And that scent, Jesus. Vanilla and strawberries and _power_ with just a hint of sex.

No, _no_. It isn't a bloody crime to want to shag the girl. And the fact that she's the Slayer only makes the fantasy more reasonable. A violent, passion fueled hate fuck ending in blood, preferably hers. Not that I'd mind if she spilled a little of mine, too. That's what I'd always planned on. Make her beg and scream and crawl, make her ache for it, then give it to her. Give her the best sodding shag of her life just before takin' it all away. And that's a perfectly bloody acceptable desire to have. Right? That's all this is, anyway. So what if the single violent shag fantasy's blossomed into more of a...string of violent shags. Well, why the hell shouldn't it? Can't kill her. Least ways, can't kill her right _now_. Not until I get my head fixed up and back on straight and can seem to fuckin' remember why it is I want the bitch dead in the first place.

Because I _do_. Want her dead, that is.

Just hard to remember that when she's got her hot little body wigglin' on top of mine. Which brings me circlin' right back around to needing to start thinkin' things through more.

Havin' landed square on top of me a moment ago, Buffy gasps now, her nose almost touchin' the tip of mine, and braces her hands on either side of my head. Proceeds to struggle to push herself off me. She can't o'course, as I have my arm wound tight 'round the small of her back to hold her in place. Somethin' she doesn't seem overly happy about at the moment.

Blood floodin' her cheeks, she digs her hands into the ground beside my head, huffs a little and shoves herself up as far as my grip'll let her. She glares down at me, green eyes blazin'. I can see the words forming, can tell she's about to shoot off at the mouth and say somethin' self-righteous or indignant. Probably bloody loud, too.

 _Bint's gonna get us caught out, mark my words._

"Okay," she says, her voice loud, as I thought, "what the hell are you doi—"

I roll my eyes at her and growl, reach my hand up and cup it against her mouth. The rest of her words come out muffled against my palm.

Fuck, her lips are soft.

Another fleeting image of what she'd look like on her knees in front of me, wrappin' those baby soft lips around the tip of my cock has it twitching to attention beneath the weight of her body.

If the Slayer notices she doesn't seem to mind.

"Shh," I hiss at her, shovin' that thought out of my head for the time being, my voice dangerous and low. "You want your pals to find us?"

The Slayer stops struggling, her eyes widening as the wheels start turnin' in her head. I watch her through narrowed eyes as she works through whatever she's needin' to work through, then she shakes her head slowly, silky lips brushin' across the palm of my hand as she does.

"Good girl," I murmur, pullin' my hand away from her. In the dark, I keep my eyes up on her face but strain my ears to hear. Hidden away beneath the bushes, I can't smell 'em anymore, the soldier boys. Can barely hear 'em from here, but 's right difficult to hear much of anythin' now over the roar of her blood and the poundin' of her heart as she stares down at me.

She looks like she's thinkin' real hard about somethin' else. I want to ask, but since I just forcibly shut her up, and also don't particularly care what she's thinkin' about, I decide against it. Just lay underneath her and try to fight the very natural instincts my body's havin' to hers, and just watch her. Watch as those fiery green eyes search mine, then watch as they drop to my mouth.

It looks for half a mo like she's about to say somethin'.

And then she kisses me.

Buffy, the Slayer, kisses _me_. It's not a long or overly passionate kiss, but I couldn't give a rat's ass about that at the moment because no matter how short the kiss is, it's still a kiss.

One that she's instigated.

Oh, I knew it. I bloody _knew_ it. I knew she wanted it, wanted me, as much as I'd wanted her. Knew that somehow, someway, one way or another, we'd be endin' up like this tonight. I'd been thinkin' about it all damn day.

Course, in those fantasies she'd been the one lyin' on her back. Naked. Trembling and achin' and desperate beneath me, hot little hands pinned up above her head. In those fantasies I'd always held out, refusin' to give her what her body so obviously needed until she was screamin' and cryin' and begging me for it.

But all I seem to be able to do now is stare up at her with wide eyes.

"What—" I begin to ask, but she's shakin' her head before I can get the question out. Maybe that's for the best though, seein' as I'm not sure I even know what the bloody hell I'd been about to ask in the first place.

And the Slayer looks about as stunned as I am. Blinkin' down at me, dark lashes flutterin' down over pink cheeks. Green eyes wide, like she's tryin' to decide if she should jump to her fight and make a run for it or if she should shove her tongue my throat.

I'm sincerely hopin' for the latter of the two options. Not that I'm above pushin' her to make the right choice if need be, because I'm not.

But Jesus, this would be just that much sweeter if the chit made the decision herself.

I tighten my arm around her waist, causin' the weight of her lower body to shift forward until she's straddling my hips. I inhale deeply through my nose when she rubs against me, her movements causin' my zipper to press down into my cock in a way that makes my mouth water. She shifts again, and I have to bite down on my tongue to keep from makin' some poncy, desperate noise.

 _Fuck_.

If that innit the word of the bloody night.

Buffy stares down at me, eyes glazed, pupils dilated. Lookin' dazed, but not in the same way she'd been last night. This isn't the fever talkin', or any drugs. Slayer's got it bad. The way she's pressin' her chest against mine, leanin' closer and closer to me by the second. Oh, yes, she's practically beggin' me for a repeat of last night.

And far be it for me to keep a lady wanting.

Truth of the matter is it wouldn't much matter one or another if she _wasn't_ practically beggin' me for an encore performance right now. Chances are she'd be getting' one either way. The heat of her body is drivin' me round the bloody bend as it is. Might not be a hundred and six degrees tonight but I'm right sure she'd set me on fire if I gave her half a chance. Christ, the heat of her body through two layers of clothes is enough to burn me even now. The sound of her blood rushin' in her veins, her heart pounding against her chest is music to my ears. And the scent…bloody hell, the way this girl smells.

Like a fuckin' strawberry cupcake.

I watch the tip of her pretty tongue dart out to wet her lips, leaving 'em glistenin' in the moonlight.

Oh, sod it.

A deep, impatient growl tears from low in my throat and I lift my head up, covering her lips with mine, every inch of my body strainin' up toward hers.

I feel her resist me for just a moment, like she's still thinkin' about doing a runner if I don't keep her pinned against me. So I tighten my grip on her, run my tongue along the seam of her lips and force her to open up for me. And I'll be damned if the sound of the Slayer moanin' into my mouth isn't the most delicious noise I've ever sodding heard.

* * *

 _What is the matter with me?_

One kiss. One. That's the deal I'd made with myself, the way my rational brain had rationalized it. One quick, nothing of a kiss so I could prove to myself once and for all that any lusty wrong feelings I have or think I have for Spike are just left over, fake memories from the fever. I'd kiss him and nothing would happen. I wouldn't feel anything at all because everything I thought I'd felt last night hadn't been _real._ I'd kiss him, I wouldn't feel anything, and then I'd jump off of him and go about my commando butt kicking business because that'd be that. The end of whatever… _whatever_ supremely wiggy thing had been going on between us all day.

That's what had been supposed to happen.

But then…God, Spike. This stupid bleached blonde vampire that ruffles my feathers and gets under my skin with nothing more than a single word, or an arched brow. God, this stupid, _stupid_ vampire. With his too-soft lips and his too-blue eyes, and that purring thing he's doing into my mouth again, his tongue moving against mine in slow strokes. And the way he smells like cigarettes and soap and mint, things that never, ever should go together but that smell so freakishly _good_ coming off his skin. His scent is making my head light and spinny and I can't breathe, can't be bothered to pull my lips away from his _to_ breathe. Because if I do that the kiss'll be over and there's no way, no _way_ , I'm going to keep this freak show going once I've broken it.

No. Way.

One kiss had been bad. Two kisses is worse, but ya know, still manageable. But three? I don't know if I can come back from three.

I don't know if I'll _want_ to.

So, yeah. No way. Once this kiss is over I'll do the whole jumping off of him thing. Once he stops with the tongue swirling and the hip grinding and the purring into my mouth. Once he stops making me feel like my entire body is about to explode or be set on fire or spontaneously combust…

His hands suddenly dig into my hips, pulling my pelvis down harder on top of his and bucking his hips up into me at the same time, causing me to gasp and tear my lips from his. Eyes fluttering open, I stare down at him, chest heaving hard against his as I pull in several way needed gulps of air.

Up.

Right.

I'm supposed to get up now. That had been the deal, right? One kiss bad, two kisses worse, three kisses…a non-issue. Because there will not ever _be_ a third kiss, ever. Because I'm going to get up now. Right now. It isn't like it'll be hard. Just…dig my hands into the ground and leverage myself off of him and over to the side. Easy.

I'm just about to do it, too. Lean just a little further forward to dig my hands into the ground and launch myself off of him, when the vampire seems to sense what I'm about to do and immediately moves to lock me in place. His arms wrap fully around my lower back and he tugs, hard, sending me sprawling forward again until our lips are almost touching.

My eyes flash and I glare down at his, so dark now they're almost black, but I don't struggle. Struggling in this position is only going to make things harder…er, more difficult to get out of.

 _God._

"Let go of me," I hiss but it loses a little of its impact as the last word turns into a short, sharp gasp of pleasure as Spike arches his hips up into mine again.

Below me, the vampire tilts his head back slightly, parting his lips even as they curl into one of those wicked smirks and he chuckles, sounding about as smug as he looks as he growls hotly, "No."

That one simple, domineering word has my inner muscles doing that clenching thing again, an unfamiliar kind of heat swirling circles in my stomach.

"Spike," I warn him, but again, my voice is too high. Breathy. And my fingers are somehow already moving on their own, inching closer toward his head. Wanting to wrap the platinum curls around them and see if they're as soft as I'm remembering, too.

I swallow hard, inhaling the scent of his skin again as my body continues to press his down into the wet grass.

This is bad.

Bad and lusty and wrong and apparently not all that fever or drug induced since I'm pretty sure I'm fine, or fine-ish right now, and not all tripped up or drugged out like I had been last night. I'm pretty much totally back to normal now as I'm…straddling Spike's lap. Okay, so no, I'm not _fine_. Can't be. Obviously not fine if I'm lying on top of Spike and not fighting both tooth _and_ nail to get away from him. Not only am I _not_ trying to get away from him, but actually pressing myself a little harder against him.

Bad.

This is so, so _bad_.

"So what?" Spike asks huskily, letting the tip of his nose brush over mine.

I freeze in place, the muscles of my legs locking on either side of his hips as I blink down at him, horrified. Oh, God, had I been talking out loud?

"What?" I ask dumbly.

Spike just smirks a little wider.

"Tell me, Slayer," the vampire purrs, his lips barely a millimeter away from closing over mine again. His voice soft and enticing and totally dangerous. "When was the last time you did what you wanted? Didn't fret about whether it fit into your goody-goody idea of right and wrong, or worried about what your little mates might think of you." He drops his head down to put a little extra distance between us. "Just wanted somethin' and _did_ it."

His eyes are gleaming up at me, sparkling wickedly in the light reaching us from the moon. And I swear he can see the answer written on my face, can see it there as plain as day, hear it as clearly in his head as I can hear it ringing now in mine.

 _Last night._

But I won't, can't admit that to him. Not now, not ever. I have to find a way to keep the upper hand here…so much easier said than done.

"You think I want you?" I finally ask him haughtily, narrowing my eyes on his.

And Spike responds instantly, a low growl and a flash of movement as he sits up suddenly, arms still wrapped tight around my waist and covers my mouth in a bone melting, violent kiss. The combination of sudden movement and cutting of my air flow has me dizzy all over again, no choice but to inhale deeply and kiss him back just as violently, fingers finally threading up into his hair. I tug on it, moan into his mouth and surrender to the feel of him rubbing deliciously hard against me.

Then he tears his lips away from mine and pulls back, eyes flashing, chest heaving needlessly as he whispers, "You gonna try and tell me you don't?"

I glare at him, my Spike-kiss swollen lips dropping open in indignation, I sputter at him, speechless. Not literally, I guess. Actually I can probably think of ten different things to say to him right now, five of which are variations of the same colorful two word phrase I mostly try to avoid saying. The problem is, besides the fact that each and every one of them opens me up to some kind of wiggy Spike-style innuendo, I just can't get myself to say them. Can't get myself to _want_ to say them.

I'm too busy staring at the vampire's mouth.

There've been three kisses now. True, that last one had totally been instigated by the bleached blonde in question and not by me, but still. Three kisses is three kiss. Right? And really, technically, it's four if we're counting last night's. Four kisses.

 _What's one more?_

I pull my hands out of Spike's hair and drop them down to his chest, shoving his back down hard into the ground again. He makes a soft sound, something between one of those spine tingly chuckles and a grunt, eyes bright and flashing hungrily up at me from flat on his back.

"That's what I thought," he rumbles smugly, tongue curling, letting his hands slide away from the small of my back and down to my hips again, pinching them for emphasis.

I hate how totally arrogant he sounds. Like he'd known this whole time that I'd been thinking about doing this. Like it had just been a matter of time before we ended up here. What I hate even more? How my body seems to instinctively respond to it. How I kind of want to punch him in the face and suck his tongue into my mouth all at the same time.

Ugh, I _hate_ it.

But I can't seem to do anything to stop it.

"Shut up," I snap, shifting forward to press my upper body against his, pinning him down. And I'm just about to kiss him again when he suddenly growls, nipping at my bottom lip and using leverage that I hadn't realized he had to flip us over.

I land on my back with a dull, muffled thud, a little stunned. Somehow he's already got me gripped tight around the wrists, my hands pinned down beside my head. He uses his knee to wedge my legs apart, then settles his weight between them. Instantly, completely on instinct, my hips arch and strain up towards his, seeking something I don't think I even understand.

I blink up into his face, surprised at how quickly and effortlessly he's managed to turn the tables on me.

I guess that's what I get for letting myself be distracted by his mouth.

Spike gazes down at me, this arrogant, goose bump causing smirk on his face. Then he leans down a little closer to me and tilts his head to the side, gaze dark and lusty as his eyes travel down from my face to the curve of my neck, and lower.

"You under the impression that you're the one callin' the shots here?" he asks me then, his voice very low, bordering on dangerous. His eyes dart back to mine.

And I feel suddenly, extremely aware of the position I've gotten myself in. Pinned underneath the body of a Master vampire, even if he can't currently do me any real damage, he's still strong. Still probably stronger than I am. He can't bite me, no, but that doesn't mean he can't do…other things. What exactly, I don't know, but the way he's looking at me now…well, actually, it sort of makes me think those other things he could do might not all be so bad.

 _Wait, what?_

I blanch at that, eyes going wide at my own traitorous lust bunny brain.

Oh my God, what's _wrong_ with me?

"Think you get to make the rules as we go?" the vampire's still asking, only now he's leaning all the way over me, his lips at my ear. "You say jump, I ask how high? That what you were thinkin' here, pet?"

He flicks the cool tip of his tongue out to trace the shell of my ear and tightens his grip on my wrists at the same time, causing my entire body to shudder involuntarily beneath his.

I feel him smirk against my ear and my cheeks heat up again, frustrated by my body's unbidden response to the bleached vampire. I turn my head to the side, glaring up at him as he pulls back and saying snidely, "Something like that, yeah."

Spike just arches a brow coolly, the smirk falling away from his lips and his own stormy eyes narrowing as he murmurs, "If you really think that's how this is gonna work, you're off your bird."

"This?" I ask hotly, flexing my hands in his vice-like grip. "What do you mean _this_?"

He tilts his head to the side, fluttering his lashes down at me and responds with one slow, hard, extremely meaningful roll of his hips. The movement is luxurious and deliberate, rubbing the entire length of his arousal in between my thighs in just the right way and leaving very little to my hyper-active imagination as to what exactly this is.

So…okay, not just the makeout session I'd been anticipating, then.

"Okay, whoa," I manage to whisper, swallowing hard, eyes wide. "This is so not…that."

Spike's eyes sparkle down at me.

"Well not yet, it isn't," he says dismissively, dipping his head down to claim my lips again with his, his tongue in my mouth stifling the weak, cursory cry of protest that means a little less than nothing right now.

With a muffled _oomph_ sound, it takes only seconds of his knowing tongue sweeping over mine before I melt into his kiss again, my skin prickling in goose bumps all along my arms as Spike drags his hands away from my wrists and down, freeing my arms so I can raise them up and twine them around his neck.

Pleased, he lets loose another one of those purring moans into my mouth and begins moving his hips against mine in an urgent, frantic rhythm, seeking that same friction as desperately as I am. I move with him on instinct. Digging one hand up into his hair and pulling on it, digging little half moons into the back of his neck with the nails from the other, clawing desperately at his neck, and then his shoulders, arching my hips and my back and drinking everything he has to give me from his lips. And it's not enough. God, I can't…being pinned beneath him isn't _enough_ to give me the type of control I need. The contact my body's frantically crying out for, every muscle tense and tight, like rubber bands waiting to be snapped.

And then his hand is moving, snaking down in between our bodies and deftly popping the button on my jeans. A moment later, the harsh, grating sound of the zipper being lowered fills my ears.

My eyes fly open again, instantly panicked and abruptly realizing where we are. Where _I_ am, who I'm with. And _then_ realizing a half second later I'm not anywhere near the vicinity of ready or wanting to get all groiny with Spike out in the middle of UC Sunnydale's campus. I lift my legs up and wind them around Spike's waist, clamping my thighs tightly around his hips and flipping us back over again.

He chuckles, running his tongue along his bottom lip and saying silkily, "If you wanted to be on top, luv, all you had to do was ask."

I gape at him.

"Oh my _God_." I sit up straight, hands now flat on his chest and somehow still straddling his hips, and hiss, "I am not having sex with you."

There's a traitorous little voice in the back of my head that can't resist tacking on the silent caveat _out here_ to the end of that.

I ignore it.

And Spike ignores me.

"That right?" the vampire challenges me, his hands having settled back on my hips again, his eyes darting down to my very still unbuttoned jeans.

"That's right," I say sternly, reaching down to hastily do up the button again before slapping my hands back down onto his chest.

And I mean it. Definitely. _Totally_ mean it. There will be no sexing on for me for a very long time, and especially none with Spike. Not tonight, and not on campus. Or, ya know, ever.

So why I'm still not making a move to climb off the vampire's lap, I have no idea.

"Mmhm." Spike's sparkling eyes find mine again, and he starts trailing his hands slowly upward. They slide over the curve of my hips, then over my sides, only stopping once they reach the middle of my rib cage. Then he pauses thoughtfully, eyes still glued to mine. Cocks his head to the side, brushes his thumbs over my blouse covered nipples, making me shiver again, and asks, "Then why you were clawin' at me like a bitch in bloody heat not two seconds ago?"

I don't know what's more shocking about his statement, or which part of it hits me harder. That it's more vulgar than I'd been expecting, or that it's true.

My body responds instantly to him again, but this time in a very, very different way than before.

He catches my fist in the palm of his hand just before it can connect with his jaw, slipping his fingers down to wrap around my wrist again.

"Now, now," he purrs, eyes smoldering up at me, totally not bothered by the fact that I've just tried to punch him in the face. While sitting on his lap. "No need to get violent."

"That's funny," I tell him snidely, preparing to attempt another strike with my free hand, "cause I'm _definitely_ feeling the need."

Spike catches my other fist just the same way he'd caught the first, and as his fingers slip upwards and wrap around my other wrist, I kind of wonder if maybe I'd been secretly hoping that's what he'd do.

"Uh, uh, uh," he scolds me mockingly, tugging on my wrists so that I have no choice but to fall slightly forward again. "That's not nice."

"Let me _go_ ," I demand heatedly, the words coming out tense and tight from between clenched teeth.

Spike just smirks again, squinting his eyes and saying softly, goading me. "Say please."

We stare at each other for what feels like a long time, his gaze glittering and smug, mine narrowed and irritated. Torn somewhere between ripping my wrists out of his grip and leaping back up to my feet like I vaguely realize I _should_ do and alternatively wanting to grind my hips hard down onto his, see how fast me taking control of all this would wipe that infuriating expression right off his stupidly pretty face.

In the end I decide on option C— leaning forward and smashing my lips to his, which accomplishes sort of a dual purpose of simultaneously silencing him and wiping the smirk off his face. He growls in response, letting his tongue tangle with mine once more.

He groans, I whimper, what had been intended to be sort of a frenzied, bruising kiss melts into something deep and slow and just like that, all the tension seems to leak away from both of us at the exact same time.

"I hate you," I murmur against his lips between slow, toe curling kisses, the palms of our hands somehow pressing into each other's, our somehow weaving together.

"Mmm, me too," Spike agrees huskily, nodding against me, tightening his hold on my hands and pulling me closer against him as he does.

* * *

Fella could get used to this.

The girl's a bloody wet dream come true. And not just the teenage kind.

She's a little ball of fire. Hotter'n hell, or so I imagine, moves as well here as she does in a fight, and she makes the most delicious sounds. Every tiny move I make, she reacts to it. Doesn't matter how big or small, guaranteed I'll get a tiny moan, or a whimper, or a strained little gasp against my lips. My personal favorite? The way her entire body tenses up and shivers if I can find and suck on just the _right_ spot on her neck.

And I'm right in the middle of sussin' out just _exactly_ where that spot is again when Buffy suddenly stops me.

"Wait," she murmurs, turning her head toward me, kissing me again. "Wait, wait," she breathes against my lips, shakin' her head like she's only just now bloody realized who it is she's been dry humping for the past five minutes. "What are we doing?"

Fuck me bloody sideways.

I'd stopped kissin' her for what, all of five sodding seconds? Give the chit half a chance to think about what it is she's doin', and why in that head of hers she _shouldn't_ be doin' it, and it's all over.

Nope. I'm not havin' any of that.

Not this time.

"We're not doin' anything yet," I tell her, grinnin' roguishly. Then I grip her a little tighter round the middle and flip us over once more. I settle myself between her legs again, thread one hand into that hair of hers and tug her head back, exposin' her throat. I lunge for it with a guttural snarl, closin' blunt teeth over the throbbing pulse point there, flickin' the tip of my tongue over it. Buffy gasps and convulses underneath me again, archin' her back and her hips up into me.

 _Jackpot._

Christ, if the girl was any more responsive I'd really be in for it. Haven't even shagged her yet and the way she's movin' her hips now would be enough to make lesser vamps embarrass themselves, I can tell you.

She's clutchin' at me again, her hot little hands burrowed into my hair, usin' her grip to hold me to her as I nip and nibble and suck at the flesh of her throat. Fuck, I can't wait to feel her doin' this when I've got my mouth between her legs. Have her wrap those golden thighs around my head and roll her hips against my face just the way she's doin'.

Jesus, the thought of that alone…

Well, the thought of that alone has me growling into her flesh, my hand workin' its way down between our bodies and tearin' through the button and zipper again. I shift my weight up slightly, hook two fingers beneath her sweet little cotton knickers and push them between her legs. Not in. Not yet. Just wanna see how warm she is.

How soft and wet and ready she is.

"I—Oh, _God_ —no," Buffy whimpers, her body seemingly at odds with her brain. Sayin' no again even as her hips arch up, corkscrewing in a circle to try and drive my fingers inside. She digs her hands deeper into my hair and twists, yanks back hard, tearin' my lips from her throat. Her voice is fuckin' glorious, hoarse and desperate when she murmurs, "No, wait."

Given the option, normally you better bloody believe I'd rather listen to the chit's body than her words. But considerin' the chit in question is the Slayer, and I'd prefer to stay solid long enough to actually get to the good stuff here, I begin to pull my fingers back. Slowly.

And I can't quite resist the urge to smirk down at her, cockin' my head to the side to say, "Oh, don't get all prim and proper on me now, Slayer."

Her hand flies out then, burnin' me even through the leather of my coat as she digs her nails into my forearm. Effectively stoppin' me from pullin' my hand away from between those magnificent legs of hers.

I frown, confused, and look down into her face again. Watchin' her lust glazed eyes as they watch me, the way she swallows hard. I can see and hear her blood still, pulse hammerin' away. Cheeks pink, lips swollen, and soundin' just a little out of breath when she finally opens her mouth and whispers, "Buffy."

 _Green light bloody go._

My lips quirk up on one side again. Minx.

I lean toward her and nod my head, brushin' my lips against hers. "Buffy," I say quietly, repeating her name back to her. Then, with her hand still grippin' tight to my forearm, I adjust my hand and hook my fingers up, slowly in. Immediately I'm reminded of how impossibly hot she'd felt to me last night. Hot, wet, soft.

Tight.

I press a little further in and her muscles flutter and tighten around my fingers. The groan is out before I can stop it, mirrored by a heady little gasp from the girl beneath me. I glance into her face again and her eyes are closed, head tilted back, candy pink lips parted in this magnificent expression of complete and total submission.

Oh, yeah. Fella could _definitely_ get used to this.

"Ah," she cries breathlessly, archin' her back and tipping her chin up farther, revealing the entire column of her slender neck to me again. I dive for it again, suckin' a piece of velvety flesh into my mouth and starting to pump my fingers. Buffy makes another couple of those perfect, gaspin', incoherent sounds of pleasure before I decide to twist my fingers round inside of her. It changes the angle up just a touch and she suddenly cries out, "Oh, Spike."

Every muscle in my entire sodding body tenses up, and then it's my turn to shudder.

" _Fuck_ yes," I growl into her skin, pumpin' my fingers faster and deeper, immediately tryin' to get her to do it again. In no way prepared for the sound of my bloody name on her lips to have such a fuckin' visceral effect on me. It'd been even better than I'd imagined it'd be. Strained and desperate, sure, but also pleasured. And sod all if I don't suddenly need to hear her say it again. Bloody hell, the little bit of William still inside me has me makin' plans to find a way to make her say my name just like that every day for the rest of my fuckin' unlife.

"Oh," she breathes, her fingers still clutching, digging even harder into my arm. "I…mmm, I need…"

Without missin' a beat I adjust again, twist my fingers back around and press the pad of my thumb down over her. She gasps again, leavin' her lips parted as hazy green eyes open to find mine.

"That what you needed, pet?" I ask, movin' my thumb in a slow circle but refusing to slow down the pumping of my fingers. 'S one of my best tricks, this is.

Works like a bloody charm.

"Oh," she says again, a little louder this time as she blinks up at me. An expression of surprise and pure, unadulterated pleasure passes over her features. "Oh my…w- _what_ …" She trails off and throws her head back, a deep, womanly moan escapin' as she does.

I smirk at her.

I can already see the countdown startin' up on her face. Eyes flutterin' shut again, nails diggin' so hard into the leather sleeve of my duster I'm sure there'll be marks. I slowly pick up the speed of the circles with my thumb, alternatin' between firm and feather light pressure.

"Say it again," I encourage her hotly, my lips at her ear now. She doesn't respond, maybe can't, I dunno. Don't care. Just need to her to say it one more time.

"What?" Buffy asks weakly, not botherin' to look at me. Not even botherin' to open her eyes, startin' to undulate her hips in a rhythm that matches the movement of my hands.

Just watchin' her is enough to make my mouth water, my cock strain for the attention it's been achin' for since last night. What this girl's managed to do to me, I have no fuckin' clue.

"Tell me who it is that's about to make you come," I demand roughly, pressing my thumb down hard into her, countin' it down in my head as her inner muscles begin to flex and flutter, her legs start to shake.

 _5…4…_

"I…no," she exhales unevenly, the muscles in her thighs starting to tighten. She shakes her head. "I c-can't…"

 _2…_

"Tell me, Buffy," I demand, voice more desperate than rough.

And she does. A second later, right on bloody schedule, it's my name that tumbles out of her pretty mouth on a breathless, high pitched wail.

Carefully, jaw clenching and fightin' tooth and nail not to groan pathetically as I do it, I pull my fingers out of her soft, wet heat, and sigh. Look into her face from where I'm situated, still halfway between her legs and leanin' slightly to the side.

Her eyes are still closed, so I let myself just stare at her for a minute. She's brought one hand up to rest against her forehead, pressin' against the sheen of sweat there. I watch the shudderin' rise and fall of her chest, notice the upturned curve of her silly nose, the way her cheeks are bright and flushed the way they only can be after a proper seeing to.

Oh, fuck _me_.

I want to kiss her.

 _What the bloody hell did I just do?_

* * *

 _What the hell did I just do?_

I let Spike do things to me, that's what. Willingly. Completely and totally and all-too willingly, let Spike, _Spike_ , do…with the fingers and his thumb.

God, hat _thumb_.

And I liked it. Like, really. _Really_ , really…

How did he even learn to _do_ that?

On second thought, no. No, that's definitely not a road I'm wanting to go down right now. Or ever. Nope. Not this road, and also not the one that would explain to me why every time the bleached vampire says my name I get all goose bumpy and tingly places I should _never_ get tingly over something that small. Or something said by Spike.

"Buffy?"

Gah, okay. Like that. Full body tingling at that is _so_ not okay.

I swallow hard, inhale a deep, steadying breath through my nose and pop one eye open carefully. Spike's lying where I'd last seen him, his upper body propped up on his hands, the lower half of his body still down between mine. His eyes are on my face, the dreaded smug smirk in place just like I'd been expecting it to be.

I'm never, ever going to live this down.

"What?" I ask hesitantly, my voice scratchy in my ears.

I watch his lips twitch, and the smirk widens a little. Then he tilts his head to the side and says, "You can go back to tellin' me you don't want me anytime now."

 _Ugh_.

Opening both my eyes now for the explicit purpose of glaring at the vampire in front of me, I dig my hands into the grass on either side of my hips and sit up. The movement is fast, too fast for Spike to shift out from basically lying between my legs, bringing us nose to nose for what feels like the millionth time tonight.

Looking a little stunned, he shifts back a tiny ways and blinks at me. His eyes dart down to my mouth.

"You know what, Spike?" I ask, maybe a little louder than I should, somehow sounding convicted and like I know exactly what I'm about to say even though I have no idea. And even with the fact that my jeans are still unzipped. "You don't know what the hell talking—" I trail off, eyes going wide as I notice movement from just beyond the row of hedges we've been hiding behind. Just behind it and over to the left, movement in the darkness, through the trees. Barely perceptible, I might have missed it all together if I didn't have somewhat of an idea of what to look for. They're silhouettes are just two slightly darker shadows against the backdrop of trees, but they're definitely there now.

The commandos. They haven't spotted us yet, but if I can see them sitting up from where we are, it's a safe bet they'll be able to see us if they turn this way.

My eyes dart back to Spike's.

 _Oh, crap._

* * *

She's lookin' at me like a deer in sodding headlights. Brow furrowed, eyes still locked on hers, I cock my head to the side.

"Whats'a matter, luv?" I ask, hopin' to drive her to finish whatever she'd been sayin' before. Somethin' about me not knowin' what I'm talkin' about, which is always fun. I arch a brow and finish snidely, "Vamp got your tongue?"

 _I bloody wish._

In a flash she's moving toward me, wrappin' her arms round my neck and pulling me roughly back down on top of her. Face to face, our lips almost touchin' once again, a slow smirk begins to curl my lips. "Well now," I murmur softly, "seems like I might know a little—"

"Shut up, Spike," she hisses, cuttin' me off and widening her eyes purposefully.

I frown at her, narrowin' my eyes and tilting my head to the side. Bitch.

"Already told you, pet, that's not—"

It's her turn to reach up and press the palm of her hand to my mouth, stoppin' the words from coming out.

"Shh," she whispers, the skin of her palm soft and hot against my lips, doin' absolutely bloody nothin' to tamp down the urge I'd had earlier to kiss her again. Her eyes are wide, still hazy and bit lust glazed as they look up into mine. She swallows, then lowers her voice until she's almost only mouthin' the word, "Commandos."

Oh.

Oh, _balls._

How could I have forgotten about the bloody slider boys? The reason we'd found ourselves lyin' like this the first time round to begin with? Don't know how she'd noticed 'em before me this time, either. I hadn't smelled anythin'. Or maybe 's just I hadn't smelled anythin' other than Buffy…tuned everything else out, I s'pose. But, no matter, because now they're here, aren't they?

Of course. Of _course_ those wankers would choose to show up right sodding _now_.

Just my buggering luck, innit.

I nod to show her that I get it now, that I won't say another word. She nods back. Then carefully, slowly, she pulls her hand away from my mouth and, I s'pose not havin' anywhere else to put her arm now, she wraps it back around my neck with the other.

"Where?" I whisper softly, just like she had so I'm almost mouthin' it rather than sayin' it.

Buffy inclines her head to the left once, then forward slightly after that.

I nod once and mouth, "How far?"

She looks like she's thinkin' about it, pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, then shrugs. Takes a guess. "Twenty yards?"

Right then. I run the numbers in my head, doin' the math up quickly. We're wedged right up against the bushes here which have to be…three and a half, maybe even four foot high. Long as we stay right where we are and don't move, and those wankers stay more'n two feet away from the hedge, we should be right as rain. Just have to wait 'em out, stay quiet, 'til they get past us and then we can make a run for it in the opposite direction.

Easy.

Beneath me, Buffy shifts just a touch, causin' her pelvis to rub directly against mine, puttin' pressure and friction on my already throbbing erection.

Bloody hell.

Maybe not so easy.

I make a face at her and she just raises her eyebrows, an expression somewhere between apologetic and annoyed.

Oh right, like it's _my_ fault if she got what she wanted out of all this and I didn't?

Don't have much time to think about it though, because a second later there's a loud crunch in the grass and dead leaves just beside us and a little to the left, makin' us both freeze and tense up. And whoever this solider sod is that's standing' beside us, the very first words out of his mouth have an unbidden snarl threatenin' to tear loose from my throat.

* * *

"Any sign of the Slayer?" the commando standing next to our hedge row asks, presumably into some type of walkie talkie I'm guessing since I can't hear anyone with him, and he doesn't get an answer right away.

When he does, it's a stifled, static-y sounding jumble. Definitely a walkie talkie.

"No, nothing," crackly voiced commando two answers back in a whisper. A pause. Another crackle. Then, "You sure this is where he said to look?"

"That's what Finn said, yeah," Commando number one responds, sounding a little bit annoyed. I feel my eyes widen and dart back toward Spike's.

"Finn," I mouth back at him, and he nods to show me he's recognized the name too. When he nods, his nose brushes lightly over mine.

It tickles.

"Well there's nothing here," comes the crackly, whispered response from Commando two.

Commando one sighs from above us, then responds, "I don't see anything here, either."

There's a brief pause, and I wonder for the first time if these guys have like night vision goggles, or if they have some other type of tool that would help them spot us. I guess even night vision can't help you see through things, though. It's not X-ray vision.

I feel my shoulders relax a tiny bit, my arms still wound a little more tightly than they need to be around Spike's neck. I don't let myself think about why.

A second later the walkie talkie crackles back to life. "What's the next place on the list?"

That has me frowning. List? These guys have a literal list of places they're scoping out? Potentially looking for _me_?

Well, that can't be good.

There's a pause as Commando number one sighs, and there's a quiet crinkling sound, like paper being unfolded. "The quad _was_ the next place on the list."

A beat passes. Then, Crackling Commando's response: "What about the cemeteries?"

"We checked all the cemeteries already," the guy nearest us says, his voice low. And kind of a little bit monotone. I do my best to memorize it as he speaks, on the off chance I run into him again and he's not dressed all ninja army officer. "Martinez said he overheard her roommate saying something about going to see her later when she was at the house this morning, so he figured there was a chance she might be headed back to her dorm tonight. Beta's on their way over to scope the area now."

 _Beta's on their way over there now._

A team of Commando's on their way over to my dorm, expecting me. Freezing, stomach churning panic seizes my chest.

Willow.

"Great," Commando two grumbles, sighing loudly over the walkie talkie line. "You know, if this is Finn's mess, remind me why _we're_ the ones out here having to clean it up?"

Everything about that sentence has my blood running cold, a chill prickling up all across my skin that for once tonight had nothing to do with the damp ground or the bleached blonde on top of me. Finn, which is bad all on its own. But then the other words…they'd obviously been talking about me. It doesn't get much more obvious than "Any sign of the Slayer", does it? Unless they have awful taste in music and were talking about the band, in which case…well, that might be just as creepy, actually. But I'm pretty sure all evidence points to me at this point. So…me. I'm Riley Finn's mess? Or him letting me get away is his mess, more likely. But then these guys…and apparently they aren't the only team out tonight. So, what? They sent two different sets of commandos to try and "clean up" me? Pretty sure none of those are good things. Not according to every military movie that Xander's made me sit through.

"Just following orders," Commando one chuckles, responding to his teammates question, and it sounds like he takes a couple steps along the hedge row, moving in the opposite direction, north, from where we are.

"Just following orders," the second Commando echoes, sounding tired. There's another pause, a break in the static, and then, "Well, she's not here. Let's do one more quick sweep and call it for tonight."

"Roger that," Commando one barks softly, then there's a clicking noise, another sound of paper wrinkling and then footsteps in the crunching dead leaves, this time headed away from us.

"So, I'd say it's a pretty safe bet the commandos and the Lowell House guys are the same people," I whisper after a few minutes have gone by, the crackling of grass and leaves still sounding, but way, way far away now. Probably all the way on the other side of the quad.

Spike nods his head thoughtfully, pressing his hands into the ground and lifting himself up a little ways so we aren't nose to nose anymore. "Just don't know what type of people they are."

He's high enough above me now that I feel silly with my arms wrapped around his neck, so I let them fall, coming to rest folded a little awkwardly against my upper belly.

I frown up at the vampire in an effort to ignore how hugely uncomfortable I feel now, brow furrowed, and ask, "Umm… _people_ , people?"

"No," Spike murmurs, drawing the word out and looking a little frustrated with me. "I'm _sayin'_ that…look, we don't know if our soldier mates are contracted out or if they're could be regular old military. Still, I s'pose they _could_ be privately funded." He looks down into my face and sighs, needlessly. "Otherwise we have a much bigger problem on our hands than I thought."

"What do you mean?" I ask, wondering if I really want to know the answer. Judging by the expression on his face, I'm guessing…maybe not so much.

That doesn't stop him from answering, though.

"I _mean_ that if those wankers are military, government official and all that rot, then that means your government knows exactly who and what you are, pet." Spike pauses then, letting those words hit me, waiting until he sees the understanding pass over my face before he nods once. Then, his voice incredibly low, he adds, "And they're out lookin' for you."


	12. Chapter 12

How did this happen? How in the name of everythin' brutal and unholy did I let this _happen_? Callin' the Slayer by her bloody name. Thinkin' about her as something other than the thorn in my bloody side that she is. Spendin' every ounce of energy I have tryin' to keep myself from grabbing her and pinnin' her up against the nearest tree, or the side of a bloody building, or the any nearby vertical surface I can find just for the single, solitary chance of makin' her scream again.

In pleasure.

And worryin' about the bint. Jesus Christ, I don't know what to bloody to with that. Don't even bloody know where it's comin' from. I'm William the goddamn Bloody, for fuck's sake. I don't _worry_ about anyone. Ever. Certainly ain't s'posed to be frettin' over Buffy.

The _Slayer_.

Fuck. When did thinkin' about her as being the Slayer start to be so sodding difficult? The only thing I can see as I'm lookin' at the girl now is just that. A girl. A woman, if I'm bein' completely honest. A soft, hot, supple…slip of a thing. My eyes keep findin' their way to the small of her back, the perfectly rounded apple of her ass. The only good thing that's come out of followin' the bird all the way over here is getting to watch her walk ahead of me. Which is another thing.

And when, since fuckin' _when_ , do I take orders from the Slayer?

 _What has she done to me?_

"This is bloody stupid," I murmur for what's probably the hundredth time, followin' Buffy through maze of trees that line the edge of the campus and lead on up to her dormitory. I'm keepin' my eyes peeled and my ears perked, fighting the urge to go full on demon gaze as I stare into the darkness. Watching, waitin' for any sound to clue me in as to where the bloody hell these soldiers are at.

In front of me, Buffy comes to a sudden stop behind an oak tree, and I can see now we're directly across from the foot of the cement stairwell leadin' up to her dorm. My reflexes already on high alert, it'd be easy enough to stop myself from runnin' into her. Easy enough, but not very much fun. So I don't bother to try, figure at the very least I can get a little extra full-body contact out of this sodding trek across campus. So I let myself stumble into her, pressin' my front tight against her back, bracing my "fall" with two hands planted on her hips.

Big bloody fuckin' mistake.

Almost managed to forget how warm she is in the ten minutes it's taken us to get from one end of the campus to the other, duckin' behind hedges and hidin' behind rows of trees along the way. Hadn't been touchin' her the whole way over here. Not like I am now.

 _Christ._

"Wanna watch where you're goin'?" I hiss in her ear, pausin' for less than a second to inhale the scent of her neck before forcin' myself to release her again and step backward. Takes about every sodding inch of whatever will power I actually have left to do it, too. You know, be bad enough if she was just soft and warm. But no. The chit has to be soft and warm and smell like bloody _dessert_ all the fucking time. Makes it right difficult to think straight.

With my brain, anyway.

"Watch where _I'm_ going?" Buffy hisses back, whippin' her head round to glare at me. Her eyes blaze, cheeks luscious and flushed pink. " _You_ ran into _me_."

Oh _, yum._

Ignoring the throb in my cock and the itchin' in my gums, I narrow my eyes at her, tiltin' my head to the side and lowering my voice. "Wouldn'a run into you if you'd been payin' more attention."

"Couldn't _you_ have been paying more attention?" she argues, voice still a low hiss, cheeks still pink in the darkness.

"I have been, thank you. To our bloody _surroundings_." She raises two skeptical brows at me, plants those little hands on her slim hips. I glare at her in earnest and point out, "Well, _someone's_ gotta keep an eye out, yeah? Not the brightest fuckin' bulbs in the box but these wankers have got the drop on me once before."

Buffy stares at me for a minute, lookin' like she wants to argue about it some more. Normally, I'd be happy to oblige, seein' as how when she argues she gets all hot and her blood starts rushin' and what all, but given the current circumstances…honestly, I'd prefer to wait and have it out once we get out of plain bloody sight.

"Whatever," she says after a bit, shakin' her head. Like she's had the same thought I have. "Just…stay quiet, and stay low."

I nod at her, immediately cursin' myself for taking orders from the Slayer once again, eyes fixed to her face as she begins to turn 'round again.

A second later there's a low, muffled shufflin' sound from somewhere over to our right. On instinct, an instinct I just barely recognize and haven't felt in an age, I whirl around and lean forward, usin' my body to effectively block the Slayer's behind me. Narrowing my eyes into the darkness, feelin' the bones shift and my eyesight get that much clearer, I scan the tree line on the opposite end of the property from us. A moment later, the wind picks up again, bringin' with it another shuffling sound.

Oh, bloody hell.

Leaves.

Just the bloody wind blowin' the bloody leaves about.

Feelin' like the ruddy ponce I am, I straighten immediately and force the demon back. Turnin' back round to face Buffy, I'm not surprised to see her starin' up at me with an expression that's just a touch mocking, her mouth curved upward in a half-smile. And fuck me, I can't believe I just let myself do that. One thing for me to be _thinking_ about the little, tiny possibility of bein' worried about her. A horse of a different bloody to go on and show it. And you know, it's one thing to let the girl know I'm not entirely opposed to shagging her into the ground. Christ, by now the chit well and truly knows I'm not _opposed_ to that at all.

But this…protectin' her? Nope. Can't very well have that, can I?

Squintin' my eyes at her, I growl, " _What_?"

"God, will you relax?" she asks, still smirkin' up at me, the blood that'd been pulsin' in her cheeks earlier all but gone. Somethin' a little different in her eyes though as she turns back around and starts movin' through the bushes again, crouchin' down to follow the edge of the walkway that leads toward the cement staircase.

"Easy for you to say," I grumble under my breath, droppin' down into a crouch to follow her. Not thinkin' a thing about it, either, just bloody _doing_ it. Christ. "Of the two of us, you're the only one who's had a sodding orgasm."

Buffy stops abruptly, glancin' over her shoulder to ask, "What?"

 _Fuck._

"Nothin'," I say dismissively, covering, waitin' for her to turn back around and finish crossin' the small open space in front of us. She moves quickly, still hunched low, disappearing into the cover of shadow to left of the steps. I sink in beside her, eyes dartin' back around the direction we've just come, scannin' the area one last time. "Just think you're bein awfully cavalier bout all this…what with your government bein' out to get you and all."

Satisfied that there're no nasties of any kind lurkin' out in the dark before us, I sigh, turn my head back in the direction of the girl huddled beside me. I'm a little surprised to find her lookin' at me, eyes locked to mine, glancing over my face with a sort of unchecked curiosity that reminds me not altogether unpleasantly of the way I'd caught her lookin' at me the night before. Only now her eyes aren't fever glazed and hazy, they're intensely alert. Narrowed and laser like on me, that focus of hers I've always found so bloody annoying.

Also, I'm a bit surprised to find her face still so close to mine.

Would've figured she'd have scooted as far to the other side of the shadow as possible.

I blink at her, shiftin' backward just slightly. And for the second time in the last two minutes, find myself askin' her, "What?"

"Nothing," she says slowly, seemin' to check herself. That focus fades out of her eyes, the gleam flcikerin' out as she glances away from me and up toward the double doors leadin' into the dorm. "First of all, we don't _know_ these guys are government. Second of all, I'm not being _cavalier_ about anything." Her gaze flicks to mine again. "I'm just going to check on Willow and make sure she's okay, and then we're gone."

Right. The little witch. The whole _buggering_ reason we're here right now instead of back at the Watcher's place, sipping on some lovely, steamin' hot blood and gettin' ready for round bloody two.

"I'm sure Red's just fine," I mutter, reachin' down into my pocket to pull out my smokes and lighter. Fishin' one out of the pack, noticin' I only have two left, I groan and stuff them back into my pocket. "Can handle herself, yeah?" I wedge the cigarette into my mouth and light it, flippin' the lighter closed as I say, "Besides, it's not _her_ these sods are out for."

Buffy makes a face at me, wrinklin' her little upturned nose further up as I begin to exhale the first stream of smoke. I make a face right back at her, but unconsciously turn to angle my head away from her so the last of the smoke drifts into the opposite direction.

Expression relaxing, she tells me, "No, but do you really think that'd stop them trying to get to me _through_ her?" She frowns at that, glancing back toward the empty stretch of campus in front of us. "I'm surprised they haven't tried that already."

I nod absently, inhaling another deep drag off the cigarette, pullin' it away from my lips to turn and exhale again. "Probably think it's not worth the energy."

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Buffy shiftin' her attention back to me. Voice quiet but not soft, she says, "That never stopped you."

Of bloody _course_.

I roll my eyes up to the sky at that, shakin' my head. "Bloody hell," I mutter, taking one last drag before flickin' the smoldering end of the cigarette out into the darkness and turning back to look at her. "You ever gonna let that go?"

"Why would I?" she asks me steadily, flashin' green eyes glued to mine.

The words feel like a bit of a challenge to me, but I have no buggering clue what kind of challenge it is. Don't know what to say. Don't know what she wants me to say.

Sure as shit don't know if I even _want_ to say what she wants me to say.

Bugger.

Her expression isn't hard or angry, or full of contempt. Not the way I'm so used to seein' it. No. She's just…lookin' at me again. That same look from before, earlier tonight, last night…like she's seein' me for the first time. And sod it, sod it all, because maybe she is. Bloody hell, does she even know what that look does to me? Does she even know what she's done? How can she. How can she possibly know when I don't have a bloody clue. Jesus, in the span of twenty-four hours…what _has_ she done to me? Followin' her around, followin' her orders, throwin' myself in front of her at the barest hint there might be something amiss. For Christ's sake, she's got me practically beggin' for another chance to make _her_ fucking cum.

And the best bloody part?

Don't even think the little bitch has got wise to the fact that when she screamed my name back there she might as well have taken a string with my fucking name on it and wrapped it round one of her perfect little fingers.

How do I always end up here?

"Right," I say, makin' my voice hard. I look away from her again, hatin' her as much as I hate myself right now. "Never mind. Let's just get this bloody over with. Sooner we get back to the Watcher's flat the better off I'll feel."

* * *

Well…that had definitely been ten tons of weird.

I mean, yeah, I know vampires aren't exactly known for having the most stable of moods, but if Spike switched any faster between his he'd totally give me whiplash. I don't get it. One second he's looking at me like I'm lunch, in not entirely a bad way, and the next he pretty much looks like he'd love to rip my throat out. And sometimes, on rare and super fun occasions, it's a mix of both.

I've been getting the both vibe from him a lot over the last ten minutes.

And what the hell had been up with his growly protective lungey thing? Because…that's totally what that had been, right? I don't _think_ I'd imagined it. There'd been a noise, and then Spike had gone all vampire Rambo…and jumped in front of me. I mean, yeah. That's what had happened.

Right?

But, no. Not right. I must have missed something, because there's no way Spike would ever feel the need to _protect_ me. Not with his whole constantly looking like he wants to eat me thing. Unless the whole wanting to eat me thing is the thing I'm imaging, in which case pretty much everything I've always known to be true about Spike is wrong and that just makes my head hurt.

Maybe it'd be easier to puzzle through all of this if we weren't, ya know, in mildly imminent danger.

And if my legs weren't still verging on just this side of deliciously numb.

Deciding to shove those wig worthy thoughts away for another, less _being hunted by commandos_ time, I clear my throat and say, "You're really freaked by these guys, huh."

Spike makes a face at me, fluttering his long lashes as he tells me defiantly, "I'm not _freaked_ , Slayer." Then he sniffs once, rolls his shoulders back and looks away from me. "Just don't fancy findin' myself trapped like a ruddy rat in a cage again. Not my style." Then as a quick, half under his breath after thought, he adds, "Not yours, either."

Keeping my eyes on his profile, wishing I could figure out exactly what it was I'd seen on his face a moment ago, I nod. Look away again. Then, quietly, "But if I _did_ get Slayer-napped we'd be closer than we are now to figuring out what they're doing here."

Stormy eyes shift back toward mine, and I don't miss the way they flash when he murmurs, "Thought that bit was obvious."

What had I just seen in that flash, that half second in his eyes? Something. I _think_ something.

That or I'm totally losing it, which is also a possibility.

"Well...yeah, I guess," I admit, trying to stay focused. "I mean, now we know they know who I am. And we know that they're... out there looking for me." I sigh, glancing one more time up toward the doors to the dorm, then back out across the green.

After a quiet moment, still no movement in front of us, I feel Spike's eyes on my face and turn back to look at him.

"But?" he prompts me, tilting his head to the side.

I'm not sure how he'd known there was a "but" there to begin with, but I've kind of gotten to the point where trying to figure out how Spike seems to know all the things he seems to know is more trouble than it's worth.

I inhale through my nose, letting the words leave my lips on the exhale. "But that doesn't necessarily explain why they made with the experimenting on you."

I've surprised him, I think. Which makes sense since I've kinda surprised myself. I hadn't even realized I'd been starting to feel just as curious about why our soldier friends felt the need to capture and experiment on Spike, and possible other demons, if they'd come here looking for me the whole time.

It's been sort of bugging me for a while now.

I'm not really sure why.

"No," the vampire says, softening just a little bit around the edges, his eyes searching mine now. "S'pose it doesn't."

Holding eye contact with him is getting harder and hard, I notice dimly. God, why is looking at him always so much harder after smoochies have been had? Maybe because all I can think about as I'm looking at him now are his lips. How soft they are. How right now, his mouth probably tastes especially cool and smoky and why is it that I sort of hate the smell of cigarette smoke, but the thought of tasting it on Spike's tongue is starting to make my mouth water?

 _God._

A grip, Buff. Get one.

"You never did tell me what they did to you," I say quietly, changing the unspoken subject of the vampire's lips and tongue and fighting the urge to look away from him.

"You never did tell me why you care," Spike says back immediately, his voice equally quiet.

We stare at each other for what feels like a really long time, hidden in shadow behind the stairs. The words hadn't really been intended to be…well, anything really. They'd just been a passing statement. A subject change. A throw away.

So why does it feel like there's something totally freaky happening right now? And why am I not giving him my usual "I don't" response to his question. And why is he _looking_ at me like that?

And am I imagining it, or is he actually leaning in closer to me?

Oh, God.

"Stay here," I say quickly, preparing to leap into a standing position. "I'll be right back."

I grab onto the cool metal handrail on the side of the staircase and hoist myself up onto my feet, only to be gripped hard around the wrist and yanked back down to a crouching position as Spike leans closer to me and hisses, "I'm sorry, _what_?"

"Stay here," I repeat slowly, ignoring the goose bumps prickling up along the skin of my arm, emanating from the spot the cool skin of his hand is wrapped around me. "Someone has to keep a lookout while I run inside and check on Willow."

I tug a little, trying to pull my wrist out of his grip. But Spike doesn't let go of me. If anything, he tightens his hold on my wrist and raises his eyebrows. Like I'm the biggest idiot on the planet.

"And what if our new pals are already in there waitin' for you?"

I stare at him blankly, blinking a few times. No longer trying to pull my wrist out of his iron-like grip, not wanting to waste any energy in case I do end up needing it. "Then I'll come back out."

"Brilliant," Spike mutters, chuckling derisively at me. He tilts his head to the side once more, looking at me through narrowed eyes. "That before or after they shoot you with their fancy little stun guns?"

There it is again. That flicker, that lightning quick flash of something other than irritation or rage or lust. Something else in his eyes that I don't recognize, that lasts all of half a second before it's gone again.

Just long enough to rattle me, and for me to hate him because of it.

"I can handle myself," I insist harshly, finally pulling my wrist fully out of his grip and preparing to shove myself to my feet again.

"Don't be daft, pet," Spike growls, his voice dropping deep and low and just a little bit possessive. The same type of growling he'd rumbled in my ear earlier behind the cover of those bushes, the one that had caused my muscles to spasm and clench automatically. Now, it sends what I'm pretty sure is a completely unintentional tingle straight down my spine.

I swallow hard.

Willow. Right. I need to check on Willow.

 _Now._

"If I'm not back in five minutes head back to the apartment and tell Giles," I say quickly, launching myself up to my feet before the vampire has a chance to catch hold of me once more.

"Buffy," Spike growls in warning again, reaching for me. But he misses this time as I dart around him and up the cement steps, taking them two at a time and disappearing through the dorm's double doors.

Willow looks more than a little surprised to see me when she opens the door. "Buffy?" She blinks at me, immediately stepping backward to allow me space to step into our dorm room. "What are you doing here, is everything okay?"

"Uh, not really." I say, moving quickly to my perfectly-made bed and dropping to my knees. "Just had a close call with our commando buddies on the quad." I dig my weapons bag out from underneath it, hauling it out, taking a quick peak through it before zipping it up and getting back to my feet. "Overheard them saying they were coming here and wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Coming here?" Willow repeats, looking at me blankly. Her eyes follow me as I dump the weapons bag onto my bed and move quickly to my dresser, pull some extra clothes out and toss them toward my bed as she asks me, "Wait, why?"

"To find me, apparently." I move to the bed, unzip the bag and stuff the extra clothes down into it, zipping it back up just as quickly. I glance toward Willow and say, "Riley overheard you telling someone you were going to be seeing me later and I guess they don't know I've been staying at Giles's place because they automatically assumed that meant you'd be seeing me here." I pause, turn fully back to face her and plant my hands on my hips. "They have a whole team headed this way now."

That seems to jar her. Eyes widening, she murmurs a quiet, "Oh." Then, a moment later, "Whoa. Okay...so the commandos really are here for you?" Luminous green eyes follow me again as I move to her side of the room, hunting for an overnight bag for her. "They know you're the slayer and everything?"

"Called her out by bloody name," Spike says, the sound of his voice, smooth as silk from behind me in the open doorway, making me jump a little. I pause in my search, straightening and glancing over my shoulder toward him.

I frown, annoyed. "I told you to wait outside."

"Know good and well what you told me, pet," the vampire purrs at me, stepping into the room, pausing once to give a cordial little nod to Willow before looking back at me. "Since when do I take orders from you?"

But the look in his eyes, and the sound of his voice…well, it sounds a little bit like he wouldn't exactly _mind_ taking orders from me. Not in one super particular area, at least. Or maybe I'm imaging that, too. I feel my cheeks reddening under his scrutiny and immediately turn my back on him, facing my friend again.

Choosing to ignore the spine tingly expression on the vamp's face, I address Willow again, saying, "You can't stay here, Will. It's not safe." I find what I've been looking for, a little tote bag, and hand it over to her. "You should pack some stuff and leave with us."

It takes her a second to understand what it is I'm saying to her, but then she nods. Slowly at first, then faster.

"Umm, okay. Okay." She turns toward her dresser and starts placing clothes quickly into the bag, glancing at me as she does. "Where should I go? Home?"

I think about that for a second, watching her dump her books from off her desk and into her bag, as well. I bite down on the inside of my cheek and shake my head. "No, you can't go home...it'd be too easy for them to find your parents' address." I press my lips together, thinking, then, "You can come back with us to Giles's apartment if you want—"

"'S a little cramped there already," Spike says hurriedly, cutting me off before I can get the offer fully out. I turn back over my shoulder to look at the vampire again. He raises his eyebrows and finishes purposefully, "don't you think?"

I raise my own eyebrows at him and say just as purposefully, "There's plenty of room, Spike."

His eyes flash at me, lips forming a hard line. Clearly irritated at me for not going along with…well, whatever it is he's trying to get me to go along with. "You know what, you're right," he says slowly, folding his arms over his chest. "What with the Watcher in his bed and you on the sofa and me on the sleepin' chair, there's plenty of room for Red. In the bathroom."

"Or," I say slowly, drawing the word out and turning around to face him. "Willow can take the couch, I'll take the chair and _you_ can sleep in the bathroom."

Spike narrows his eyes at me, reaching a finger out to point at me as he says, "If you think I'm about to hole up in that ruddy bathtub after tonight—"

"You didn't seem to mind much last night," I say in a rush, hurrying to cut the vampire off before he has a chance to let our little quad grope-a-thon cat out of the bag.

Sensing what it is I'm doing, Spike blinks at me a few times, then smirks and shifts back onto his heels.

"Things are different now, though, ain't they?" he asks me, lowering his voice to a decibel I'm fairly certain only I can really hear.

"Nothing's different," I insist harshly, my own voice low.

And sounding totally and completely unconvincing in my ears.

Unconvincing to Spike's too, apparently, since all he does it smirk a little wider and let the darkening azure of his eyes do their little smoldering thing at me.

Crap.

"Uh, guys?" Willow says quietly from behind me, making my spine straighten automatically, turning slowly back around to face her. She gives me a little wave and says, "Commando team currently on their way here?"

"Sorry, Will," I mumble, casting one last, narrow eyed glance over my shoulder and the still-smoldering vampire. Then I straighten my back and square my shoulders, noting that Willow's hoisting her bag up onto her shoulder and looking like she's ready to go. I clear my throat and tell her, "There really is plenty of room at Giles's place if you want to come back with us, though. Have a feeling it's the safest place in town for us right now."

Willow glances back and forth between the vampire and me, nibbling down on her bottom lip. Apparently, Spike's little "not enough space" argument seems to have had the impact he'd been hoping it would, because she finally makes a little face at me and shrugs. "Thanks for the offer Buff, but I think I'll just go to Xander's."

And honestly, I don't know if I'm relieved or disappointed to hear her say that.

"Well...okay," I murmur, shrugging in return. Trying to look neither relieved nor disappointed, but neutral. "I mean, if you're sure."

A second later, I feel Spike tense up behind me. He takes a step further into the room until he's standing directly beside me, finds my eyes and lowers his voice to a hard, urgent whisper. "Whatever we're gonna do, we better do it right bloody quick." He flicks his head back toward the door and says, "We're about to have company."

I nod quickly, immediately on the reddest of red alerts. Muscles coiled, ready to spring, I ask, "How much time?"

Spike pauses a second, tilts his head like he's listening hard, then looks back to me. "Thirty seconds at most."

"Which way?" I ask, leaping back toward my bed and snatching my weapons bag up, hauling it up over my shoulder as I whirl back around to face the vampire.

Already moving back toward the open door, without missing a beat, he tells me, "Comin' up the way we came in."

Thirty seconds, now probably only twenty, which means they're probably in the middle of the inner stairwell that leads up onto our floor from the front of the building.

Which leaves the back stairwell wide open.

"Guess we're going out the back then," I say breezily, nodding my head meaningfully toward the vampire in the doorway before glancing toward Willow and gesturing for her to follow me.

"Right," Spike agrees, a quick nod of his head letting me know he's understood what I've asked him to do.

I'm just about to slip the light switch on the side of the room as I exit, but something else beats me to it, every light in the building going out the exact same way they had the last time the soldiers had attacked the dorm.

Ten seconds.

Feeling Willow's presence close behind me, I reach back and grab a hold of her hand as I start to sprint for the opposite exit. The sound of our wooden door clicking closed and Spike's feather light footsteps follow us a split second later, and the three of us peal around the corner and make a bee-line for the double doors at the far end of the hallway, furthest from our room and the front stairway we'd come up.

I may not be at one hundred percent super Slayer capacity, but I'm still faster than average, and the three of us make it to the second set of double doors at the end of the long hallway. With Willow between us, Spike and I shove the doors open as quickly and silently as we can, disappearing through them and beginning to barrel down the two flights of stairs just as the sounds of the first set being opened reaches my ears.

We finish careening down the steps, stumble our way through the second set of back doors, down another set of cement steps and out into the cover of darkness.

It takes longer than usual to get from campus over to Xander's house, since we try and take back roads and stay as hidden as possible the whole way there. We drop Willow off, Spike opting to stay well away from the door and the boy behind it as we do. Even though Xander already knows Spike's been "staying" with Giles, getting into what's sure to be some kind of fight, at the very least a verbal one, isn't exactly what we need right now.

Xander's house is about a ten minute walk from Giles's apartment on a good, not needing to be super secretive day, so it takes us closer to twenty minutes tonight. And the vampire and I don't bother to talk at all on our way back across town. Well, with the exception of a couple derisive comments about Xander still living at home with his parents, which I ignore, even though I sort of agree. But after that, nothing. Zero talking. The whole time I can tell he wants to, though. Maybe not talk, exactly, but he wants to say something. Do _something_. I can tell.

So I'm not even a teeny tiny bit surprised when Spike corners me after we get back. I'm in the bathroom in the middle of attempting to wash the dried sweat off my face when he enters.

"We gonna chat this out then?" he asks me, being careful to keep his voice low, pushing the bathroom door shut behind him as he does.

He's removed his duster, probably hung it back up, now only wearing his skintight jeans and black T.

I sigh, dragging the towel down over my face. "Excuse me?" I ask, hanging the towel back up and maneuvering myself around him, opening the door again and stepping out into the hall.

Undeterred, Spike turns to follow me immediately, his presence strong behind me as he murmurs slowly, "You. Me. Gettin' all physical-like in the bushes."

I whirl back around to face him, forcing the vampire to come to an abrupt stop to keep himself from running into me. "Oh my _God_ , keep your voice down." My eyes dart up, out of the small hallway and over toward the loft where Giles's bedroom is. Satisfied we haven't woken him up, and turn back around to glare at the vampire in front of me.

Spike looks delighted by my reaction, rocking back on his heels and chuckling deep in his throat. "Oh, what? You embarrassed?" He leans a little closer to me, touches his tongue to his teeth and whispers, "Really gonna try and play the virginal Slayer now?"

I gape at him, fingers curling into fists at my sides. "I'm not…playing anything. Just…" I trail off, stammering awkwardly and hating myself a little bit for it. "Shut up about it."

"Mmm," Spike purrs, overtly stepping even closer to me. His lashes flutter and fan down, down to my hips and then back up again. "Gonna have to do a lot more than just stammer and blush, pet. After that little performance you gave me back there."

" _Performance_ being the key word," I say sharply, turning my back on him and moving toward the living room again.

I don't get very far before Spike pulls that same crap he pulled back in front of the dorm tonight. Stepping right up to me, his front flush against my back, his voice directly in my ear and bringing me to an abrupt stop. Like he's just wrapped an arm around my waist to hold me against him even though I _know_ he hasn't.

"Now, see," he murmurs, his cool breath stirring my hair. "That might hurt my feelings if I hadn't felt it for myself." His lips right at the spot where my hair brushes my neck, I hear the sharp inhalation in my ear and then the heated words that follow. "Tighter than a bloody rubber band, you are."

Everything in my body tenses, hating the words as much as I hate my body's traitorous reaction to them.

"You're disgusting," I tell him, but I don't move. Can't move. I'm completely frozen to the spot. He isn't holding me here, I know. Logically, I know. But I can't move.

Won't move.

Don't even know if I _want_ to.

And reading my mind as clearly as if I'd just spoken out loud, his ready, rumbling response; "Your body'd beg to differ, pet."

 _Ugh._

"You don't know anything about my body," I tell him coolly, working hard to hide the slightest catch of air in my throat as I do.

 _Bad_. Bad, bad, bad.

"Yeah?" Spike asks, his voice still directly in my ear. And then he's reaching up, walking his fingers slowly over the curve of my hip and downward. "Know you've got a cute little birthmark shaped like a star right in between your—"

My eyes snap back open, I hadn't even realized they'd fluttered shut, and I smack his hand away from me, whirling around to face him again. He doesn't move away from me, though, so all this really helps me do is come nose to nose with the smirking, arrogant vampire.

"I'm going to say this once, _once_ , and then we're never talking about it again." I reach a hand up between us, pointing a finger hard into the center of his chest. Saying it with as much force and conviction as I can muster. "Tonight was a fluke. A mistake. It was…wrong, and it shouldn't have happened."

But Spike just scoffs, looking equal parts pleased and now even a little bit repulsed as he says, "Well, I agree with you there."

* * *

Clearly, not what she'd been expectin' to hear.

Her eyes wide, lashes fluttering wildly against rosy cheeks, she asks, "I…you do?"

I scoff at that, noddin' my head and crossing m arms. "Bloody right I do. Much as you might like to think otherwise, I'm not a complete idiot." I frown at her, leanin' in a little closer. "Know this thing happenin' between us is unnatural."

"There is no _thing_ between us," she insists immediately, predictable and almost laughably wrong. "I told you, it was a fluke."

"No," I disagree, drawin' the word out as I move closer to her again. "Last night...now _that_ might've been a fluke, you bein' higher than a bloody kite. But tonight." I inhale deeply, a slow smirk curvin' my lips. "No, luv. Tonight—"

"Was a one-time thing," Buffy says fiercely, her eyes flashing. A mixture of genuine, delicious rage and also open, blatant _hunger_. An echo of what she is, what she wants, and somethin' she doesn't have a chance in bloody hell of hiding from me now.

"That _really_ what you think, Slayer?" I ask her slowly, mesmerized by the way her eyes are drinkin' me in. Fuck, how everythin' she wants is reflected back at me in them. "That what happened out there was a one and done tumble? That it'll never happen again?" I'm pressed right up against her now, can feel the pounding of her pulse, the rush of blood pulsin' through her veins, singin' the most mouth-watering song. I look down at her through my lashes and whisper, "That you'll be able to stay away?"

* * *

 _No._

God, no, not if he keeps doing this. Keeps looking at me like he is now. Keeps smelling like something I want to wrap around myself, burrow into and never let go of.

But if he thinks I'm just going to roll over and _admit_ that, then he doesn't know me half as well as he'd like to _pretend_ he does.

Something I'm more than happy to remind him of now, wrenching myself out of the wiggy magnetic pull of the bleached vampire's body and stepping backward, forcing distance between us as I say harshly, "I don't _think_ anything. I know."

My attempted dismissal doesn't seem to do anything but egg the vampire on. Looking pleased with himself, more so than he usually does, he begins to approach me again. For a second, watching him approach me, I forget about everything we've found out tonight. I forget that we're standing in the middle of my Watcher's living room. I forget about pretty much everything except for what happened on the quad behind the hedgerow and how it can never, ever, under any circumstances, ever…happen again.

"I hate to be the one to burst your pretty little bubble," Spike says, still approaching me slowly and sounding a little like he'd very much like to do _exactly_ that. "But _that_ was only the beginning."

The first words on my lips are an immediate denial. To say no. That what happened wasn't the _beginning_ of anything at all.

Instead, all that comes out is a stuttering, weak sounding, "We never talk about _that_ again." I swallow. "Ever."

I tear my eyes away from his and turn around, moving deeper into the living room, trying to find something to keep my hands occupied. I settle for the blanket draped haphazardly across the couch, reaching down for it, shaking it out absently.

"Right," Spike says, tone still low and quiet. I can feel his presence, can sense him approaching me even though I'm trying really hard to ignore him. "So we aren't talkin' about it then." He lowers his voice to another seductive purr. "That mean we aren't doin' it either?"

I stop mid-way through folding the throw blanket over my arm, caught off guard by the unbidden throb between my thighs and rippling tingle down my back.

"Spike, I swear to God." I drop it back down onto the couch with a soft thud. "If you say one more word about _it_ , I'll—" I whirl back around to face him, cut off when Spike's suddenly right there, standing directly in front of me once more.

I blink a lot, not sure what else to do. Frozen again, just like before, nearly nose to nose with the bleached blonde. You'd think after it happening so many times over the last twenty-four hours I'd sort of be used to it by now.

I'm not.

"Go on, Slayer," he goads me, azure eyes sparking and darkening a little as they trail over my face. "Tell me what you're gonna do to me."

Every words melts into me, rolling off the tip of his tongue and offering all kinds of sinful possibilities that are way harder to say no to now that I know he can probably deliver on every single one. Spike's so close to me now that his lips are almost brushing over mine. It wouldn't take much. It wouldn't take anything at all…a tiny shift forward, the smallest move to close the gap and crush my lips to his. In so many ways it's worse now, harder to stay away from him now that I know my stupid fever fried brain hadn't made the whole thing up. That his lips are that soft, that he does taste that good, that he really, really… _really_ knows how to use his hands.

But it isn't just me. For all the honeyed seductions and purring taunts, the wicked promises his body is making mine even as we stand here looking at each other, the expression on the vampire's face now isn't goading or arrogant anymore. It's just…hungry.

I tilt my chin up, eyes open, glued to Spike's, and let the tip of my nose rub lightly against his. Part my lips, start to shift a tiny bit forward…

"Buffy?"

I jump out of my skin and stumble backward, my heart hammering a loud, disjointed rhythm in my chest. Breathless, I shout an instinctive and panicked sounding, "Nothing."

"What are you doing up?" Giles asks, squinting at me as he rounds the corner on his staircase and descends down into the living room. He frowns deeply, looking barely awake. "Is everything alright?"

Beside me, Spike makes a low, irritated noise in the back of his throat.

"Yeah," I say immediately, then shake my head, rephrasing. "I mean, no."

Giles reaches the ground floor, tightening the sash of his robe a little tighter as she shuffles toward me. "What's the matter?"

That's a loaded question if I've ever heard one.

 _God_ , had I really just been about to kiss the vampire…again? And had we seriously been interrupted by my Watcher…again?

Yes. And yes.

And all of this on top of the very real fact that said vampire and I just returned from finding out that not only are the commandos and the Lowell House boys the same, but that they're more than likely government agents…or military. Or something. And that not only had they fully intended to capture me that night at my dorm, but that they fully intended to capture me because they know that I'm the Slayer.

What's the matter?

Everything. Is everything an all-encompassing enough answer?

I glance toward Spike, noting the hard set of his lips and the narrowness of his eyes, a sour, perturbed expression fixed on his pretty face as he levels a glare on my Watcher. I sigh, then look back toward Giles.

"It's a long story."

"Right," my Watcher says, sighing, suddenly sounding as tired as he looks. He reaches down and flips on the floor lamp beside the overstuffed chair as he shuffles his way over toward the kitchen. "I'll just put on some tea."

Spike turns to me as soon as Giles is out of earshot, leaning toward me. He gestures between the two of us with a quick wave of his hand and in a low, firm voice, sends another chill down my spine. "We're not finished here."

And I'm almost positive he isn't wrong.

* * *

Don't rightly think I'll ever get used to this, sittin' in on these little show and tell sessions with the Slayer and her Watcher. Listenin' to her hash out what's been figured, the constant, dronin' back and forth question and answer bit. Don't reckon it's somethin' I really should get used to, either. Not like I wanna be part of the Slayer's twinkly little inner bloody circle anyway, is it?

But if it's somethin' I have to sit through for now even if only to get what I want, well, I s'pose I can suffer through it.

Have a feelin' it'll be worth it in the long run.

Least, that's what I'm thinking to myself now. Straddlin' the back of one of the wooden chair, arms crossed over the top of it. Scrapin' at the chipped polish on my thumb and doin' my bloody best to tune the rubbish out as Buffy sits and explains to Rupert everythin' what happened tonight. I glance up at her every once and a while as she yammers on to find her eyes on me, feeling rightfully smug when she catches me catching' her and her gaze darts away again.

Bloody adorable, 's what it is. Like a frightened little bunny.

Finally finishing up her story, I tune back into what the Slayer's sayin' in time to hear her tell the bit about the soldier boys referrin' to her as that one wanker's "mess", lookin' small and awkward when she leans back into the sofa and wraps her arms round herself.

My immediate reaction is to get up and go to her but I shove that back down with an inward snarl, tearin' my eyes away from her face and back down to my hands which are suddenly white knuckling the chair back.

From his seat in _my_ sodding chair, the Watcher leans forward, clears his throat and says, "And by 'mess' I'll presume they mean...letting you get away."

"Glad to know that Council education is bein' put to good use, Rupert," I drawl, goin' back to casually scrapin' at the thumb nail on my left hand, only lookin' up at the old man long enough to get a good mocking grin in.

He turns an equally cutting frown in my direction, glarin' at me from behind his poncy specs and asks me, "Remind me again why I don't just toss you out on the street and let you fend for yourself?"

He's goin' for threatening, I know, but the poor sod just can't quite muster it.

"Because that's not in your nature," I tell him simply, smugly, grinning at him again. "Not after everythin' I've done for you lot. Kept your charge from gettin' taken by those military prats not once, but _twice_ now, mind you." I scoff at him, leanin' back and cocking my head to the side. "Pretty spot you'd be in if the Slayer'd gone off tonight alone and gotten herself nabbed up."

The Watcher regard me coolly, lookin' largely unconvinced. "A more compelling argument would be if you'd managed to keep her from going at all."

Oh, sure. Like that's so bloody easy.

I fix the old man with a look, archin' a brow and jerking my chin in Buffy's direction. "You ever tried reasoning with the girl?"

He seems to think it over for a tic before lookin' away from me. "Good point," he agrees, drawin' a surprised little gasp from the Slayer and makin' her cheeks heat up all over again.

Christ, could watch her face turn that perfect shade of cherry a million times over and it'd never stop makin' my mouth water.

* * *

Cheeks hot, burning bright red for about the millionth time tonight, I protest loudly. "Giles!"

But my Watcher looks unmoved.

He actually looks like he's somewhere else all together, already way down deep in the rabbit hole of his brain, working through something he hasn't bothered to share with the class yet.

"We'll need to come up with some sort of plan." He's frowning thoughtfully, his eyes focused down on the rug below my feet. Brow furrowing, still thinking out loud, he murmurs, "Some way to…extract information from them."

"Do you think Willow'd be able to hack their system?" I ask, drawing his attention back up to my face. He nods once, a little distractedly, looking like that might have been what he'd been thinking.

"It's possible," he concedes, then stands back up. Carrying his now empty mug back in the direction of the kitchen, he adds, "It certainly wouldn't hurt to have her try."

"Probably gonna have some type of security measure in place, I'd wager," Spike says off handedly, already having gone back to picking the black nail polish off his thumb.

He's been doing it all night, or at least since we sat down to start going over things with Giles. I wonder if it's a nervous habit, or just one of those weird, fidgety quirks the vampire seems to have so many of.

Why does he even paint his nails to begin with? And where does he keep the nail polish? Does he like have a secret stash of it somewhere? Maybe the same place he keeps the twenty pair of skintight jeans and form fitting black cotton shirts. And minty smell-good stuff, because that has to be some kind of bizarro cologne or _something_.

There's no way that scent is natural.

"Too bad we can't just nab one of 'em up off the streets," Spike says then, finishing up with his thumbnail and directing his attention now to his index finger.

That has me pausing.

He's kind of absolutely right. If they're so gung-ho to kidnap us, why can't we return the favor?

"Wait," I say, turning around on the couch to angle myself toward the vampire. "Why can't we?"

Spike pauses in his ministrations, brow furrowing as he looks up and his eyes find mine. They flicker, a little flash of what might be excitement in them as he says slowly, "I dunno."

I feel the corners of my own lips start to curve upward. How is this not something we've thought of before?

"It wouldn't even be that hard," I tell him animatedly, leaning forward a little bit in my own mounting enthusiasm. Spike's smirking at me, but not… _at me_ , at me. He's looking at me like we're in on some kind of inside joke together. "I mean, why couldn't we just like…set a trap?"

"Doesn't seem like rocket science to me, luv," Spike agrees, leaning toward me himself. Conspiratorially, like we're plotting some diabolical scheme.

Which we kind of are, I guess. Sort of.

"Exactly," I say. "It'd be totally easy. I could be the bait, and then when they come looking—"

I watch Spike's expression shift, go from wicked to unsettled in the blink of an eye, but I don't have any time to think about why, or what it is I've just seen, because Giles picks that exact moment to cut me off, his voice loud from inside the kitchen.

"Don't you think that's a bit reckless?"

I whip back around on the couch to look at him. "Think about it, Giles. We know they're out looking for me, right? But _they_ don't know we that we know they're out looking for me. Why not use that against them? Use me to lure them out, make them think they're all upper handy then _bam_." I clap my hands together for emphasis. "We snatch one and bring him back here."

"And then…do what with him, exactly?" my Watcher asks me steadily, raising his eyebrows.

I frown at him, frustrated that he's taking the wind out of my brilliant plan-shaped sails with silly things like logic and questions. "Well, I don't know…you're the big brains here, Giles, can't you figure out that part of the plan?"

"It would be my greatest pleasure," he mutters dryly, exiting the tiny kitchen and stepping back into the lamp-lit living room.

I make a deadpan face at him. "You have to admit, having one of them on demand would be majorly helpful."

"Yes, it would be," he agrees, doing that Watchery thing where he looks down his nose at me and braces his hands on his hips. The gesture's a lot more intimidating when he isn't in his pajamas. "Provided we could convince them to give us the information we're wanting."

"Ooh, let me," Spike pipes up, drawing my eyes back toward him. He's looking downright devilish now, leering at Giles, looking delighted by the idea as he coos, "I'm nothin' if not convincing."

God. The vampire's not even trying to be seductive now. So how come my body responds to him, anyway? Luckily. He isn't looking at me, which I'm hoping means he hasn't noticed.

 _Yet._

"As much as I appreciate your… _enthusiasm_ , Spike," Giles murmurs distastefully, casting a dark look at the bleached vampire before turning his attention back to mine. "I think we should wait another day or so before committing to any type of plan. Just until you're up to full strength again, Buffy." He sighs, looking at me meaningfully as he says, "I'd prefer not to take any more unnecessary risks."

"Check," I agree quickly, offering him a small, impish smile. "No more unnecessary risks."

Giles nods wearily and turns back toward the kitchen, leaving me in that weird semi-aloneness with the vampire once again. And somehow my eyes manage to drift back toward Spike's, looking all kinds of sinful and wrong as he leans forward and braces his chin over his crossed forearms, looking at me pretty much the same way I'd look at a piece of dark chocolate cake.

No more unnecessary risks.

 _Of any variety._


	13. Chapter 13

I can't stop looking at Spike.

No matter what I'm doing, what I'm saying, who I'm talking to…I can't stop looking at the bleached vamp. It's like my eyes are on this wonky one track where they can only look in the other direction for so long before they snap back toward him. It's majorly annoying.

Especially when he catches me doing it. Which he does.

A lot.

Which probably means he's staring at me as often as I'm staring at him.

Which also probably means neither of us are paying very much attention to Giles.

Which is probably why I jump a mile and a half out of my seat on the couch when my Watcher steps closer to me and says loudly, "Buffy?"

I whip my head toward him, doing my best to ignore the way I can still feel Spike's eyes on me as I do. "What?"

Giles frowns at me. "Were you listening to anything I just said?"

"Totally," I say quickly, nodding my head. "No more unnecessary risks. I heard you."

So, okay…obviously I've missed something, because Giles is giving me his patented vaguely annoyed with Buffy look now.

"Yes, well, you heard me ten minutes ago at least," he scolds me, sighing. Reaching up to rub at his temple. "Perhaps it's best if we save the development of our plan for the morning."

"What's there to develop?" Spike asks, finger tips drumming against the back of the wooden chair he's straddling. "Thought we'd decided on the old bait and switch routine."

"There are still plenty of smaller details to be considered," Giles tells the vampire dismissively, barely glancing toward him before focusing back on me. "Where it'll take place, measures we need to take to ensure it all goes smoothly. I think Willow should be involved somehow, as well. Don't you think so?"

"Huh?" I ask, snapping my sneaky, Spike-seeking eyes back to my Watcher. Cheeks heating, I clear my throat awkwardly, nod again. "Oh, yeah. Willow. Sure."

He frowns down at me again, and I don't miss when his grey eyes dart from me over to the vampire on my left, then back again. I don't want to risk looking at Spike myself to see the expression that's probably on his face.

"Like I said," my Watcher finally says, just as finally turning his eyes back to me. "Let's save the rest of this discussion for tomorrow." I watch, relieved, as Giles move around the couch and over toward the kitchen, flipping off the light there, then the lamp as he crosses back. "You need some decent rest if you're indeed planning on executing this new plan tomorrow night."

"Rest, right." I offer him a small smile. "Rest is good."

Giles nods, turns one last weird look toward Spike, then tells me to sleep well and heads back up to bed.

I wait until I hear the squeaking of the wooden floorboards of the loft, the springy sound the mattress and the tell-tale sigh of relaxation before I even think about risking a glance back toward the vampire beside me.

And I immediately wish I hadn't.

The expression on his face, the gleam in his eye. His last whispered words to me before we'd had to deal with Giles echoing in my ears as he smirks at me. Just the hint of curling tongue visible from behind his teeth as he does.

 _"_ _We're not finished here."_

And I swallow hard, wondering silently how long it'll take before we're getting started again.

* * *

She's waitin' for me to say something. Wants me to be the one to bring it up again, she does. Givin' herself all kinds of plausible deniability. No doubt thinkin' that if I bring it up for her it gives her the free and clear to deny all those pesky feelings she's havin'. Those dark little desires she has. The ones I'd seen reflected back at me earlier tonight, before her Watcher had seen fit to interrupt us.

Again.

Bloody hell, how much farther along would we be if the Slayer had a place of her own? Could've shagged the girl good and proper a thousand buggering times by now.

I catch Buffy's eyes on me again and chuckle under my breath as she looks away. She's doin' her best to look as relaxed as possible but she can't very well fool me. Even if I couldn't hear the sound of her pulse, couldn't feel the heat from her skin and the rush of her blood, still be able to see it, wouldn't I? Every inch of her body is on edge.

And as impulsive as I can be, I know when to wait things out. I can wait her out. She may not know it, but I sure as shit do. The countdown's already begun and it's only a matter of time before she gives in. Let's go. Because whether little miss high and mighty wants to believe it, I'm in her system now. Unfortunately, that means she's also lodged up in mine as well…but bugger that.

I'm not the one who's in denial here.

We sit together in silence for another agonizin' ten minutes when she finally speaks up.

Bright eyes dartin' toward me, she catches me lookin' at her. Which is just fine, considerin' the fact I haven't exactly been tryin' to hide it from her. The only difference this time is she doesn't immediately look away.

Instead, she frowns at me and says, "Stop it."

And _I win_.

My lips itch to curl upwards but I manage to keep 'em in a line. Play innocent.

"Stop what?" I ask, lettin' my eyes trace down her throat to the small sliver of bare, honeyed skin peekin' out at the edge of her blouse.

Buffy shifts on the sofa, looks away again. Folds her arms protectively over her chest and demands, "Stop looking at me like that."

My eyes flit back up to her face. Her cheeks are still flushed, have been really ever since we'd arrived back at the flat. She'd been doin' that funny little thing since then, too. Doin' it again now. Meets and holds my gaze for only a measly few seconds at a time before darts 'em away again.

It's hilarious.

And fuckin' adorable.

"Wasn't aware I was lookin' at you any specific way, Slayer," I tell her in a drawl, leanin' back in my chair and reaching up to stretch my arms above my head.

Her eyes follow my movements.

"Well…you are," she tells me, sniffing. "So stop."

I smirk at the Slayer, tiltin' my head to the side so I can check her out through my lashes. Knowingly inform her, "Can't rightly stop something I'm not doin' on purpose in the first place, can I?"

Sides, why in the bloody hell would I ever stop doin' anything that makes her so flushed and fidgety. Shiftin' around on the sofa. Blushin' ten different shades of red in the darkness. Dartin' little side glances at me every sodding chance she gets.

I _love_ it.

"You're doing it again."

"Doin' what?" I ask casually, unashamedly runnin' my eyes over her again. Not stoppin' at the collar of her blouse this time, but dippin' lower. Lower still.

"You're looking at me…that way again."

I chuckle, flutter my lashes at her and drag my gaze back up. "And what way is _that way_ , pet?"

The fact that I'm so obviously playin' dumb seems to shake her out of her fluster, because she levels me with a look, widens her eyes. "If you're hungry, there's plenty of pig's blood in the fridge," she tells me brightly, a wide, blindingly bright smile splittin' her face. Voice positively oozing sarcasm.

I smirk again.

My, my. Innit she the clever little thing.

"Yeah, well." I lean forward again, droppin' my chin down onto my arms and purr, "You smell far more delicious than anythin' the Watcher has in the kitchen."

The Slayer looks scandalized. Mouth dropping open, she blinks long lashes at me a couple times before snappin' her lips shut again. Narrowin' her eyes, brow furrowed, she wrinkles that silly nose up and says pointedly, " _Ew_."

"That's a good thing, luv." I lean back again, shakin' my head at her. "How utterly delectable you smell…'s a compliment." Then I pause, think it over. Roll my eyes and mutter, "Not that you'd know a true compliment if it jumped up and sunk its sodding fangs into your throat."

She gasps.

The Slayer gasps. And not a horrified gasp, either. It's this tiny little noise catchin' in the back of her throat, so soft even my ears barely pick it up. But it's there. Christ, is it ever there.

I raise a brow in question.

I watch her scramble to respond. "Again, I say…ew," she manages to mutter, but she doesn't mean it. Oh no. My sweet Slayer doesn't mean it at all. It doesn't take a bloody rocket scientist to figure out why it is she's havin the reaction she is. Pulse throbbing, pupils swallowin' the irises of her eyes as they stare, open and wide and hungry, over at me.

Bloody hell. She _likes_ it. Likes the idea of it, anyway.

"Well," I rumble, sittin up straight again. "Isn't that interestin'."

Fuck, I can just picture it, too. My fangs slicin' through the butter soft skin of her neck, one hand buried in that hair, the other buried between her thighs. The sounds I could pull from her lips. The way I could make her gasp and scream and beg…

"What?" Buffy asks suddenly, jarrin' me out of that particularly pleasant day dream. Thankfully.

 _Stay on track, mate._

I blink at her a few times, shake my head. Clear it. Then smirk knowingly at her and say, "Nothin'. Just a bloody shame you don't know how to take a proper compliment, is all."

"Okay," she says, levelin' me with a hard look. Fire blazin' in her eyes. "In what part of your bleached brain does telling me I smell better than a pig register as a 'proper' compliment?"

 _The part that knows how sodding stupid it'd be for me to tell you how distractin' your eyes are._ "The part that knows your look'll fade a right bit faster than your scent."

Fuck.

And there's that too-bright smile again as she leans forward and tells me, "You're twisted."

 _You have no bloody idea._

"And?" I ask, scoffin' at her. Glancin' over her head toward the kitchen, wonderin' if I should actually drink more of the pig swill before the night's up. Keep me from gettin' lost in fantasies of Buffy's blood. "Least I'm sayin' something nice to you at all."

Buffy scoffs right back at me. "Yeah, you're a real charmer."

My eyes find hers again, a slow and very deliberate smirk curving my lips as I lean forward to remind her silkily, "You certainly seemed to think so earlier tonight."

She purses her lips. "That had nothing to do with your _charms_ , Spike."

"No," I agree with a nod, leanin' back. "Just my fingers."

"Oh my _God_ ," she hisses at me, shiftin' forward on the sofa now to plant both her feet on the rug. Her hands grip the edge of the cushion, looking like she's gonna come flyin' at me any second.

Not that I'd mind all that much if she did, but honestly…enough is bloody enough. This fun little self righteous act she has goin' on is just that. An act. And not a terribly convincin' one at that.

Who does she think she's foolin'?

"Oh, save it, Slayer," I tell her, wavin' a dismissive hand in her direction as I lower my voice further. High past time this charade of hers was put to bed. I narrow my eyes, arch a brow and tell her purposefully, "It's more'n just your blood I can smell, you know."

She looks horrified again, as I'd expected. Gapin' at me like a little guppy fish, her hands curlin' into fists at her sides. Know it's a bit risky for me to goad her like this but sod it. I can't help myself, can I? Her face and her body, blazing eyes and heavin' chest. All the little reactions she gives to me, they're just too _good_.

What's better? She can't even deny it. Might be able to lie through her teeth about what's going on in that head of hers, but her body…well that's a different ball game, innit.

Slayer finally manages to shut her mouth again, sputters out an indignant soundin', "Okay, seriously? The bloodhound thing has to go."

But even knowin' she really can't, I'm a bit surprised she hasn't even tried to deny it.

Oh well.

"Why?" I ask, bitin' down on the corner of my lower lip. "It make you nervous?"

"It makes me wigged," she counters steadily, still lookin' like she's ready to bolt from the sofa at a moment's notice.

" _Wigged_ , does it?" I ask, quirkin' a brow. _Somebody get this chit a sodding dictionary._ "Isn't that Buffy-speak for 'nervous'?"

Her eyes blaze again, which is downright delicious 'cause she knows I'm right. "Just stop smelling me!"

"No can do, luv." I grin knowingly at her, reachin' a finger up to tap the side of my nose. "Can't exactly control the senses, can I? Not with you sittin' right bloody there."

Buffy glares at me, scootin' herself to the edge of the sofa and announcing, "Then I'll move."

"Move where?" I challenge, raisin' both brows when she looks at me. "All of about five feet you can go in any direction."

"As long as it's five feet away from you," she says heatedly, diggin' her hands into the cushion below her hips and leveraging herself to a standing position.

But I'm up, too. Movin' into her space before she can get half a step away. Still innit completely herself, I'm sure. Skin still a little too hot to the touch under my hand where I've grabbed her round the wrist, yanked her back to face me.

I stop to inhale, lookin' down into her face. She smells even better this close. Sweet, pungent blood pulsin' under her skin and the salty tang of sweat that's dried on top. Takes every last bit of control I have not to drop my head, tear the sleeve off her buggering shirt and run my tongue all the way up the length of her arm.

And I've had just about enough of this little game she's got goin'.

Tightenin' my hold on her, I tug her toward me. Just close enough that I can lean down…get myself situated, nearly nose to nose with the girl. Then, my voice vergin' on deadly now, I tell her, "You don't fool me, you know."

She glares up at me again, wrenches her deceptively slender wrist free of my grip and says defiantly, "I'm not even going to ask what you mean by that."

Then she turns her back on me and starts movin' toward the kitchen.

"Yes you are," I chide mockingly, watchin' as my words do their job, bring the Slayer to a sudden stop not three feet away from me.

I listen to the sound of her pulse, her heart beat pickin' up tempo against her ribs as she inhales. Exhales. Turns narrowed eyes at me from over her shoulder and says, "And you're so sure."

"Bloody right I am," I laugh, still mockin' her a bit. More for the delicious reaction she gives me when I do than because I really like mockin' her. I squint a little, lower my voice and say slowly, "You can't help yourself."

Buffy turns back round to face me full on. Folds her arms across her chest. Defensive now, as bloody stubborn as ever, she sighs. "You don't know me, Spike."

"Know you better than you'd like, Goldilocks," I murmur, takin' a step forward. Knowin' the words probably aren't all that true even as I say 'em but not carin' all that much when I catch the luscious sound of her breath catchin' in her throat again. The way her eyes widen just a touch, like I've caught her out.

"Whatever game you're playing," she tells me slowly, evenly. Her voice deadly and dangerous and not doin' much at all except make me want to drag her into the kitchen and set her up on the old man's counter top. "I'm not interested."

But the words are only words, and I know. She knows it. This little game of cat and mouse is somethin' she's very interested in.

Her body at least, if not her head.

That'll come in time, too.

"Fine," I say, my voice matchin' hers. Another step brings me into her personal space again, forcin' her to tip her chin back to hold that defiant eye contact with me she likes so much. I inhale and exhale through my nose. My lips twitch. "Tell me you're not thinkin' about it, then. Go ahead. Tell me you haven't been sittin' there all night trying to ignore it. Trying not to think about it." I lean forward then, press my lips to her ear and whisper, "Trying not to _want_ it."

Buffy tears her head away from me, one palm at my chest to shove me away. "No."

But my little mouse is all flustered and flushed and breathless.

"Mmhmm," I chuckle, disbelieving. Take another step toward her.

She counters with an immediate step back, insisting, "I haven't."

"Not once?" I challenge.

"Not even," she says, turnin' her back on me again and marching toward the kitchen once more.

Stubborn, sanctimonious little bitch.

"Oh, Buffy, _please_ ," I growl derisively, jaw clenchin' hard as I stare after her.

"Fine," she snaps as harsh as she can with her voice so quiet, comin' to a stop again. "You're so gung-ho to talk about."

I watch as she whirls back around, plantin' both hands square on the curves of her hips, fiery eyes pinnin' me to the spot. As fed up now with me as I am with her, she raises and brow and asks, "Have _you_ been thinking about it all night?"

I take a step backward. Don't even know why.

Guess I hadn't been expectin' it.

Funny, that. This whole time I've been pokin' her and goading her into bringin' it up, trying to get her to face this thing between us. Tryin' to get her to admit what it is she wants. And somehow I hadn't bothered to plan for this…for what I'd tell her if she flipped things around on me.

S'pose it was only a matter of time before she did flip this round on me. Not that I'm of any sort of mind to let her get away with it.

"Ah, ah, ah," I purr. Click my tongue disapprovingly at her, shake my head. "Deflection is a dead giveaway, pet."

But I can see it on her face now, the little chit's got me pegged. Can see the wheels turnin', her eyes goin' bright as they search mine. Like she's been lookin' for somethin', just one thing, to nail me on.

And she's finally fuckin' found it.

Watchin' me carefully, she steps forward. Closes the distance between us just a little and drops her hands from her hips. Eyes never leavin' mine she asks softly, "Tell me why you kissed me last night."

Oh.

 _Bugger._

* * *

I watch the smug smirk and the wicked little gleam in the vampire's eyes melt away, his mouth folding down into a frown, brow furrowing. It looks like he's thinking super hard about something…maybe how best to avoid the question again, for the second time tonight.

I'd almost forgotten that I'd asked him about it once tonight already, why he'd done what he had. Why he'd been the one to initiate that first kiss between us when he hadn't had an excuse. Not like mine. _He_ hadn't been the one all drugged up and fevery.

But he'd been the one to kiss me.

I stare up into his face, watching the wheels turning in his head. Stormy eyes locked to mine, I wait in the quiet. Wait as the moment between us gets longer and longer, the silence getting louder in my ears as we stare each other down.

Finally, the vampire shrugs. Shrugs and glances away from me, narrowing his eyes on something just behind my shoulder. Then, low voice almost deceptively casual, he says, "Because I wanted to."

It takes me a second to let that really sink in.

It takes me another second before I'm able to find my voice again.

 _"_ _Because I wanted to."_

I blink at Spike a few times, all of the wind suddenly sucked out of my _ha! Got ya_ sails. It's my turn to furrow my brow. "You…wanted to."

Spike's eyes shift to mine again and he frowns at me. "What?"

Another long pause. Lots of blinking from me.

Then, "That's it?"

I watch as the vampire narrows his eyes at me, looking like he's confused that I seem to be confused by his super simple answer.

"Well, _yeah_ ," he tells me, looking away from my face. "I'm a vampire. I take what I please and I do what I want, no never mind to anyone else, and last night—"

"You wanted to kiss me," I supply for him, cutting him off mid bizzaro tirade and drawing his flashing eyes back to mine.

I'm saying it more for my own benefit than to make him feel silly, if he does feel silly. I'm just trying to wrap my head around it. What it means that he wanted to. What it means that he's being honest with me about wanting to.

I run through it again in my head.

Spike wanted to kiss me…so he did. He hadn't been thinking anything nefarious, or calculating, or particularly evil. He'd just wanted to kiss me.

Admittedly, a majorly nice change from wanting to tear my throat out.

"Oh, don't look so bloody smug," Spike warns me gruffly, misreading the expression on my face and taking a step back. Pointing an accusing finger in my direction he adds, " _You_ stuck your pretty tongue in my mouth and kissed me right back." Then he drops his hand, chuckles darkly and says, "We wanna get into the 'why' of things, might as well ask yourself the same question you asked me."

I frown up at the bleached blonde. "Huh?"

Spike just stares at me for a minute, not moving to answer me right away. His eyes rake over my face. Over my forehead, down my nose, down over my jaw line, finally back to my eyes. Then he sighs needlessly, and I get this weird, twisty…and not all that unpleasant feeling in my stomach when his expression suddenly softens. The hard set of his lips lessens, the strain on his jaw relaxes and his eyes turn a less stormy shade of navy blue. More open, more curious than scornful.

Then slowly, very deliberately, he leans closer to me asks, "Why did _you_ kiss _me_?"

It's a good question. A really good question.

And it's the look on his face now, the totally wig worthy softness in my mortal enemies eyes as he gazes at me that has me answering him before I have a chance to wonder if it's the truth or not.

"I don't know," I say softly, letting my eyes search his. I swallow hard, only now realizing that my mouth's gone all dry. "I guess I…wanted to, too."

It doesn't even register exactly how much I've given away until the blue of his eyes sparks to sinful, gleaming life again.

 _Crap._

Spike smirks at me. Or…well, no, it isn't really a smirk. It's a half smirk. Closer to a smile than a true _smirk_ , his eyes still too soft for me to be completely comfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze.

The vampire cocks his head to the side and inches closer to me. "You wanted to kiss me."

 _Crap, crap._

I scramble to add, "Just, in the moment. In that moment." I clear my throat and take a big step backward, folding my arms defensively over my chest. "That _one_ moment."

But I have this sinking, twisting, gnawing feeling in my gut that says the damage has already been done.

Smugly, the vampire asks me, "So what now?"

"What do you mean what now?" I ask, turning away from him again. I meander toward the kitchen, popping open a cupboard and pulling down a glass…looking for something to do. Something to bring down the heat flaring in my face. "Now nothing." I keep my back turned on him, flipping the tap on to fill the glass with cold water. "Now we go back to pretending tonight never happened and never talking about what _did_ happen ever again."

"Right," Spike chuckles knowingly, and I can picture him with that smug smile and that stupid, sexy scarred eyebrow. "You be sure to let me know how that works out for you."

Just the visual image is enough to prickle my skin in goose bumps.

"Don't do that," I warn him, flipping the tap back off, turning around to fix him with a hard glare through the open space between the kitchen and the living room.

The vampire groans, but he's still laughing at me. All too pleased with himself as he asks, "Jesus, what am I doin' now?"

Oh, like he doesn't _know_. Like he doesn't do all of this on purpose. Like the incredible kissage and the too-soft, to0-blue eyes and the honeyed seductions aren't just all part of some kind of ingenious evil vamp plot to bring me to my absolute weakest.

Because that has to be it.

It hurts my head too much to think about what it could be if it _isn't_ that.

"You have that smug little _I know something you don't know_ look on your face," I tell him grumpily, raising the glass to my lips and finishing the water in one long sip. I set it back on the counter for emphasis. "Stop it."

"Can't help it, can I?" Spike asks, eyeing me through his lashes when I step out of the kitchen and take the long way back around to the couch. I feel his eyes on me through every step that I take, the way they fan up and down my body, like he could melt the clothes from my body if he really wanted to. "You've got this whole…wide-eyed, innocent thing goin' for you. All flushed and naive." He turns his head to follow my movements. "'Go back to pretendin' it never happened', she says," he chuckles, biting down on his lower lip and grinning wickedly. "Be right bloody pathetic if it wasn't so damned adorable."

Putting my best Slayer face on, I square my shoulders and cross my arms. Careful to keep the entirety of Giles's couch in between the two of us, I ask snippily, "What do you think's going to happen?"

Apparently, that had been all the invitation he'd needed to approach me again.

I watch, frozen, as Spike starts to stalk toward me. Slow and smooth, each step calculated. Each corresponding word low and deliberate.

"I _think_ you're a stubborn bint who's too afraid about what other people think to ever just do what you want." I watch the vampire slide around the corner of the couch, trailing black tipped nails along the back of it as he does. "I think…deep down you're just aching for someone to come along and help you unleash all your darkest desires." He's right in front of me now, so close I can smell the scent of his skin, the metallic fragrance of blood and leather. Of wind and grass from outside. From earlier. My mouth starts to water as he leans forward and whispers, "And I think you'll make it a day, maybe two, before you come runnin' back to me for more."

My entire body throbs once. Hard. A sharp tingle dancing its way down my back, tickling the very base of my spine and swooping down to my very core, making it momentarily hard for me to remember all the reasons he's wrong.

Because he is.

He is so, _so_ wrong.

"Let me know how all that thinking works out for you," I say snidely, ignoring the uncomfortable, empty ache between my legs as I echo his words to me from a moment ago. Let a sugar sweet smile cross my lips.

Unruffled, the vampire chuckles. He steps even closer to me, eyes on my face as the bright, sugary smile slips away from my mouth. He reaches a hand up to ghost his palm slowly over the side of my head, then even more slowly down to the ends of my hair.

"You ever heard of friends with benefits, pet?" Spike asks me casually, pausing there, his eyes dropping to his fingers as he winds a lock of my hair around them.

I reach up to bat his hand away, quick, jolting sparks igniting and skittering up my arm when my fingers come in contact with his cooler ones. My whole arm feels it, his touch, the same way it had earlier when he'd grabbed me around the wrist.

I'd ignored the feeling then.

I do my best to ignore it now, too, deadpanning, "So we're friends now?"

"You have another word for it?" Spike asks me mockingly, lowering his voice and widening his eyes.

I look at him, raising an eyebrow. "Tenuous allies?"

"Hmm." The vampire pretends to think it over, frown and furrowed brow included. Pursing his lips, he looks away from me. "Tenuous allies with benefits…" he trails off, tilting his head from side to side. "Doesn't _quite_ have the same ring to it, but I s'pose I can get behind it if—"

" _Very_ tenuous," I say sharply, glaring at the know-it-all vamp and folding my arms up over my chest.

Spike backpedals a little, but only a little. Smug smirk in place, he holds both hands out in front of himself with his palms out toward me and says, "Look, I just call it like I see it, yeah? I want you…" he trails off, letting those words and all the very unnatural things they mean hang in the air between us for a moment before dropping his hands down again. Stepping closer to murmur, "…and we both know you want me. And seein' as we're stuck here together for at least the foreseeable future," he shifts again, eyes bright and calculating in the darkness, "seems it'd be a right shame to waste that time arguin' when there're much more pleasant things we could be doin', that's all."

He makes it sound so easy. Simple. And really, _really_ fun.

But he's a vampire. He's supposed to make all kinds of dirty, sordid things sound easy and simple and fun.

So I cock my head to the side and tell him, "I think I got my fill of your more pleasant things earlier tonight, thanks."

It even sounds like a lie to me.

"See, that's where you're wrong," the vampire hums, skirting to the side lightning fast to block my escape path without missing a beat. Like he'd been expecting my response, anticipating my move before I'd even thought to make it. "Out there tonight?" he asks, voice smooth and rumbly and low as he slides further to the side, beginning to circle me. Like the predator he is.

My head is already starting to spin, my eyes already fluttering closed when he slips fully behind me. Plants his hands on my hips. "That was only a taste, pet," he swears to me, every word its own ardent, sinful promise. "Barely grazed the surface. Get the chance again…" His cool lips find my ear just as he tugs my body back flush against his. Inhales deeply and whispers, "…the things I could do to you."

* * *

The Slayer trembles.

She fucking _quivers_ in my arms, her entire body a hot, pulsin' live wire beneath my hands.

"I hate you," she tells me, her voice breathy.

But she doesn't move away from me. Not one bloody inch. Doesn't resist when I dig my nails into her hips and push myself harder against her. She just stands there like she's frozen to the ground, her back suctioned flush to my front, the heat of her skin searin' me through the layers of fabric between us.

And she wants it. Bloody… _fuck,_ I can smell how much she wants it to let me have it. Know how easy it 'd be for me to take it. Chit can say whatever she likes, feed me whatever garbage lines she thinks she has to in order to save that gorgeous face of hers…but that. She can't hide _that_.

Can't hide the way every inch of her delectable body is reactin' to me now.

Unfortunately, this little plan of mine seems to be backfirin' a bit since I can't exactly hide the way my body's reactin' to _her_ , either. Story of my buggering unlife.

 _Fuck_ me.

The scent is drivin' me mad now. Bein' this close…havin' her there, all slippery and hot and so bloody _tight_. Just there, right there, right at my fingertips. It wouldn't take much. A slight shift forward, a flick of my wrist and I'd have her button undone. Be able to maneuver my hand down, brush my fingers past her curls, tear more of those succulent sounds from her throat.

It wouldn't take much at all.

Jesus, I know she wouldn't fight me.

And she's so bloody warm. Skin's so fuckin' soft. My hand's movin' before I can think about it, gliding forward, the tip of my index finger curvin' down to rub her through the denim between her legs.

Buffy trembles again. Gasps once. Tips her head back, barin' the curve of her throat to me. I pull her closer and growl against her skin on instinct. Realize it right bloody then and there, one way or another. The inevitability of it all.

 _This girl is goin' to be the end of me._

Christ, I want to wrap my arm around her waist inhale the sugar sweet bouquet of her neck. Throw her to the ground and worship her, every sodding inch of her, with my hands. My tongue. My lips. Fuck, I want to thread my hands into her hair and spout off rhymin' couplets and sonnets and bloody free verse and whatever the fuck else I can think of as I bury myself deep inside her.

Take her. Taste her. Make her _mine_.

And that…well, I can't bloody well have that, can I? Won't take anythin' from her until she offers it to me her Goddamn self. Might not be able to bite the bint but sod it, I still have my pride.

"Hate me as much as you'd like, luv," I tell her and force myself to pull away, my lips brushin' over the delicate line of her neck as I do. Gums tingling like mad, fangs itchin' to burst forward and slice into the soft spot just over her pulse point. I settle for nippin' at her ear, nibbling at the lobe and makin' sure she hears me when I tell her, "Won't change what you want."

And I let go of her, fightin' hard to keep my pace slow and deliberate as I circle back around her and cross back to the sofa.

Buffy stands very still for a moment, just starin' after me. And then in a rush, like she's only just now giving a second thought to what's been happenin', to what she'd just let me do. To what all she _would_ have let me do.

Then she shakes her head, sputters and says, "Shower." I watch her turn on her heel and make a bee-line across the room. "I need to shower."

Well…not exactly the reaction I'd been hopin' for, but it'll do for now.

"I bet you do," I chuckle, droppin' down onto the edge of the sofa and eyeing her as she scrambles toward the sorry excuse of a hallway that leads toward the washroom. Ignorin' the painful strain of my cock against the zipper of my own jeans as I do. Thankin' my lucky stars she's picked now to scarper off to the washroom.

"Oh, God," she hisses, stoppin' dead still and spinning round to face me one more time. Eyes wide, indignant. "It has nothing to do with _you_."

Back to savin' face again, are we? How adorable.

I answer her with a smooth, disbelieving cock of my brow.

She glares at me. I can smell the heat risin' off her skin from here as she says, "I'm still all sweaty from running around earlier tonight. I can't sleep if I'm all sticky and gross, and Giles was right. I need to be back at full Slayer capacity if we're going to make with the soldier-napping plan." She pauses, pointin' down at the sofa I'm now stretched out across for emphasis. "And I need sleep to do that."

Smirkin' at her, I cock my head to the side. Bat my lashes at her. "Thus…your sudden and burnin' desire to shower at one in the morning."

"Yep," Buffy says dismissively, snatchin' the rest of the clothes Red brought by for her earlier off the edge of the counter and givin' the "P" a little defiant pop as she does.

My lips twitch. So bloody adorable.

"Fine, fine," I murmur, placin' one foot down flat on the floor and archin' my hips. Just gettin' comfortable, really. Though I'd have to blind as a bloody bat not to see the way her eyes shoot straight to the bulge there. Smug, I reach back and fold my arms behind my head. "How much of a head start should I give you?" Curl my tongue up behind my teeth. "Five, ten minutes?"

And would you even fuckin' believe it? The Slayer _almost_ smiles.

"You're deluded," she sing songs instead, turnin' her back and disappearing down the narrow hallway and around the corner.

I catch myself smiling after her, waiting until the bathroom door squeaks shut before droppin' my hand to the button on my jeans. I pop it easily, drag the zipper down and sigh. "Five it is, then."

* * *

I'm not sure which situation is actually worse— when Spike and I were very much of the mortal enemy variety and I'd had to fight for my life every time he came around, or this new, fun thing we're doing where I have to fight to keep my pants on whenever he's around.

I guess one of them does have an obviously more satisfying result…but still. The whole fight to death thing had been a lot more straight forward. Way easier to navigate.

And had never made me feel the need to take a compulsive ice cold shower in the middle of the night.

And, also Spike. Even if he is all with the not being able to bite me at the moment, he's still Spike. Still the same vamp that came to town looking to add Summers, Buffy to his Slayer slaying resume. The same vamp that had threatened my friends and my Watcher and my mom. The same vampire that had tried, had been _about,_ to kill me just a couple weeks before now.

Okay, yeah…so he'd done a few halfway decent things since then. And…before then, if we're really getting technical about it. But those had always been more about him than anyone else. Definitely more about him than they'd ever been about _me_.

At least, that's what I'd always thought.

That's what I'd always thought up until tonight.

Because he hadn't needed to come after me tonight. Hadn't needed to warn me about the commandos. Hadn't needed to come with me to get Willow. Or walk her to Xander's, or talk to Giles, or help me come up with a plan against those stupid psycho soldiers.

And that thing in the bushes…that bone melty, Earth shattering, incredible thing in the bushes. I'm pretty sure he definitely hadn't _needed_ to do that.

And he hadn't been wrong.

It seems safe enough to admit it now, if only to myself. Quietly. In my head. In the secure safety of the bathroom, with the hot water dripping down my shoulders and the comforting sound of droplets smacking into the bottom of the porcelain tub to drown out all the other noise in my mixed up brain. I can admit that Spike hadn't been wrong at all.

I do want him.

And more than that, I think he might have even been right about the other stuff. The stuff about me being afraid of what other people think. What my family and my friends think. He might have even been right about the other stuff, too. The deep, dark, dirty, _never let them see the light of day_ sort of desires that I've always been so good about squashing down.

Why is it Spike, Spike of all people…er, vamps…that brings all of that out in me?

Maybe if I could figure that part out I could go back to the squashing. Because at the rate things are headed, it's only a matter of time before I do something stupid. Like, majorly stupid. Like…doing whatever the hell I want, all Slayer duty and sacred calling and consequences be as damned as the bleached menace himself level _stupid_.

Or...something.

God, I'm so tired.

I crank the dial over as far as it can go, brace my hands on the wall and lean forward until my forehead is pressing against it, too. Close my eyes. Sigh.

I'm dead on my feet, just about to let the heat of the steam and the therapeutic pounding of the water on my back lull me all the way to sleep when I realize it. White hot, a flash of realization down my back and my eyes flutter open again.

I hadn't bothered to lock the door.

Of course, by the time I _really_ realize this it's too late to do anything about it. The door's squeaking open. Squeaking closed. Clicking shut again. And just when I'm honest to God thinking that maybe I'd just imagined all those sounds, I hear another one.

Humming.

Fully awake again, eyes bugging, I reach for the corner of the shower curtain and lean around the edge of it. It takes me about half a split second to register that oh yeah, that humming? Definitely coming from Spike. And Spike? Definitely standing in the middle of my watcher's bathroom.

Unbuckling his belt.

Panic. Ice cold panic. It smacks me in the chest and trickles down to my stomach, furling in on itself as my fuzzy, steamy brain tries to make sense of what it's seeing. Shaking my head, clutching the edge of the shower curtain to my bare chest, I whisper-shout, "What the _hell_ are you doing in here?"

Spike's eyes find mine through the haze of the steam and he smirks. "In all fairness, I did warn you I was comin' in."

The leather belt makes a loud whipping sound as he yanks it clear of the loops on his jeans, a jingling sound as he drops it to the bathroom rug at his feet.

That's how I notice he's barefoot.

And that he sort of has nice feet.

"I thought you were joking," I say, still only half shouting. Like for whatever reason I'm afraid to make too much noise. Which doesn't really make sense either, since I know logically that Giles is sleeping literally like...twenty feet away. I could scream. I could scream and he'd come running and he'd make Spike leave and that would give me enough time to get out and get dry and find something sharp and pointy and wooden to shove through the bleached blonde's chest.

The bleached blonde's...very nicely shaped chest. That looks vaguely marble-like in the vanity lights from the mirror as he tugs the black cotton t-shirt off and tosses it to the ground with the discarded belt.

He shakes his head, threads a hand back through his platinum hair to smooth it and tells me smugly, "I never joke about personal hygiene, luv."

His hands drop to the button on his jeans.

"Oh my God, what are you doing now?" I ask, traitorous, traitorous eyes dropping to follow the movements of his hands as he unbuttons the skin-tight black denim.

"What's it look like I'm doin'?" Spike asks back, perking a scarred brow. My eyes are glued to the zipper as he slowly lowers it. "Gettin' in the shower, ain't I?"

All I see at first glance is the hint of dark, tufted curls that tell me definitively the vampire isn't a natural blonde before I realize what I'm about to see and blink, dart my eyes back up to the vamp's face and stammer, "I'm already in here!"

"So I see," he says, chuckling. Then pauses with his hands on either side of his waistband and amends, "Or…I'm about to, anyway."

Wait, no. No. No, no.

He's getting in the shower...with me? He wants to _shower_ together? That's not...that isn't...I've never...I've only been naked in front of a guy twice. Or...three times I guess, if we're counting the whole accidental nakedness that was the rat Buffy incident.

But always in the dark.

And never wet.

And _never_ with my mortal enemy.

"Hold it right there, buddy," I tell him sternly, panic making me suddenly, bizarrely bold. Done with fluttering, virgin eyes act. And Spike obeys me, shockingly, his movements stilling with just the edge of the jeans dropping over the curve of his hips. He glances toward me expectantly, the most devastating smirk on his pouty lips. _God_. Keeping one hand on the edge of the shower curtain, I let go and reach out with the other to point a finger at him. "I know exactly what you're doing, and I can tell you right now you're wasting your time. This…that…is _so_ not happening."

And Spike looks genuinely offended. He looks genuinely offended at _me_ for suggesting he might be up to something. How can he possibly be offended at me for suggesting he might be up to something when all he'd been doing since we got back from Xander's was try to get _up_ to something.

"Don't be ridiculous, pet," he tells me, brow furrowed deeply, hands still stilled on the edges of his waistband. "Just fancied a wash, is all. You made it sound so nice." He pauses then, a very Spike-like expression crossing his features and his eyes going all bright and twinkly as he adds, "Shower sex is overrated anyway."

Oh.

Okay, then.

How can my mouth be dry and watering at the same time?

"Okay," I say slowly, drawing the word out. Still trying to process. "Fine. Whatever." But I don't sound like it is fine or whatever, or like I believe him even an itty, bitty bit. "If you _seriously_ feel the need to shower you can wait until I'm finished." A beat. "Outside."

"Mmm, I could," he agrees with a slight tilt of his head. "But why waste the old man's hot water if there's no need?" And with that he shimmies the tight black denim down over his slender hips.

"There's need," I insist, watching helplessly, like everything's moving in slow motion, as Spike proceeds to tug off his jeans and toss them to the ground. I shrink back into the shower on instinct, letting the curtain fall back to cover my eyes and swallow. Mouth cotton-dry, I mutter, "There's a big, _big_ need to…"

But I trail off. I'm forced to. The words just flat out die on my lips as the very naked, very pretty, vampire pulls the curtain aside at the far end of the shower and hops into the tub with me.

And he is. Naked. And pretty. Sort of super humanly pretty, which I guess makes sense considering he's...not human. I try to remember what Angel looked like naked but can't. Parker...I don't think I ever actually saw Parker. Not that he probably would have been able to hold a candle to Spike...or Angel for that matter.

But definitely...definitely not to Spike.

My gaze drops down from the marble-like chest to the perfectly tapered V of his waist. Lower. And I have to bite down on my lip to keep it from twitching up into the smile that it suddenly wants to.

No. Parker couldn't have held a candle to _any_ part of Spike in all his naked, pretty, vampire glory.

And then I realize that I'm, _hello_ — still naked, too. Naked and wet, with water still cascading down my back and legs, and that if I'm just been standing here getting a free show than the naked, pretty vampire in front of has probably been doing the same thing.

I give a small, undignified shriek and shift to the side, slapping my right hand and forearm over my breasts and my left down to shield the tiny patch of curls between my legs.

But Spike doesn't even really look at me. Not at my body, at least.

His eyes are twinkling and mischievous, sure, but they're locked on mine. He doesn't do his X-ray vision thing, or look me up and down like he's hungry. Doesn't even quirk a brow.

Instead, he approaches me slowly. And when he reaches me, instead of reaching for me like I more than half expect him to, he turns to the side. The cool, nude skin of his shoulder brushes against mine as he slides past me and on into the spray of the water. He stands under the stream for a minute, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair, untangling the soft curls from the gel they've been locked beneath all day.

Then the vampire glances at me from over his shoulder and says, "Be a lamb and hand me the soap, will you?"

And for whatever reason, God only knows the reason, I do. I pull my hand away from myself just long enough to reach down onto the ledge and grab the bar of Irish spring soap I'd used in the bath earlier. Hand it to him. Watch as he turns away from me again, lathering the bar between his hands, the black of his nails bright contrast against the white of the soap and the white of the tub and the white of his hands.

Then he takes the lathered soap and begins...to use it. The same way I do. Like any normal person might use soap in the shower. And I have no idea why it strikes me as so totally bizarre, but it does. I watch from a half step back as he washes himself, draws the sudsy bar across his skin. Arms, shoulders, neck, chest, legs. I watch the movements of his hands, the rippling of alabaster skin over tight, corded muscle. Strong shoulders, sharp shoulder blades, the slender line of his hips and the subtly flexing curve of his butt.

I'm mesmerized.

Confused.

Kind of turned on.

"You're showering," I finally mutter, more to myself than to him. Not that it matters, since vampire hearing means he can probably hear my thoughts right now, they're so loud.

Spike chuckles, glancing over his shoulder at me. "I am."

I frown, wrinkle my nose up. Take a half step closer to the vampire and ask, "You're…actually showering?"

He turns toward me now, lathering the soap into a white terry washcloth that he's been soaking. His eyes still on my face, he smirks. Raises both of his brows and says, "You seem surprised."

"I…um…I mean…" _I'm naked._

"Yes, you are," the vampire agrees breezily, finishing with the lather on the wash cloth. And I'm confused again. I hadn't said that out loud.

Had I?

"Now, stop gawping and turn round," Spike instructs me on a low, rumbling chuckle. He turns and places the bar of soap down on the tub's ledge before turning back to me.

I find myself frowning again and ask, "What?"

Spike raises both dark brows again, points a finger down toward the bottom of the tub and makes a twirling motion with it. Expression impassive, completely and totally unruffled by our very naked nakedness.

Blinking at him, not even understanding why, I do as he's asked. Because this is a dream, right? This has to be some kind of wiggy dream brought on by stress and exhaustion and…things. Other things. Other things like knowing what Spike's tongue tastes like and how expertly he wields his fingers and the conversation we'd been having just before I…had to have fallen asleep.

Because this isn't real.

This _can't_ be real.

It's the little mantra running through my head over and over again now, and a second later when I suddenly feel a gentle pressure and the soft scrub of wet terry-cloth along my shoulder blades. It takes just a half second for me to figure out what exactly it is that's happening. When I do finally figure it out, I'm not so sure I haven't legitimately completely and totally lost my mind.

Washing me. The vampire is washing me.

So…definitely a dream then.

Which I guess is okay.

If it's a dream then there's really no reason to be all panicky about it. It isn't real. And if it isn't real, that means…well, it means it isn't real. Which is what I'm going with, because whatever it is that Dream Spike is doing feels really, _really_ good.

I let my eyes flutter closed, relax my shoulders. Drop my hands away from covering myself and give a little over into the pull of the washcloth over my sore, tired muscles. I sigh.

 _This is nice._

"Feel good?"

I hesitate for a split second before responding. Just a split second, wondering if maybe...maybe...there's any possibility at all that this could be real and I could actually, very actually, be standing here in the middle of my Watcher's bathroom. In the shower. Naked.

With Spike.

Then quietly, "Yeah."

"Sound a little more upset about it, why don't you?" Spike grumbles good-naturedly. I can hear the smirk in his voice as the pressure between my shoulder blades increases.

"Sorry," I mumble, shivering when the cloth dips lower, down the length of my spine to swirl a circle of soapy suds over the swell of my lower back. "This is just sort of a weird dream."

The vampire chuckles warmly, the sound matching the flow of perfectly warm water that's trailing down my back as he asks, "Is it now?"

"Well, yeah. With the you and the me…and the naked. And the…just showering." I frown and open my eyes again, turning over my shoulder to find his bright eyes already waiting for me. "I mean, we're naked…and just showering."

"That bother you?" Spike asks gently, swiping the soapy cloth along the back of my neck. His eyes crinkle around the edges as he smiles, and they're all soft and warm. It actually might wig me less if it was an expression I hadn't seen before. If it was an expression I'd just made up in my head, made up from this dream.

But I have seen it before.

I'd seen it just an hour ago.

Shivering a little at the thought, I turn back around to face the far end of the shower and say, "No." Then I pause, reconsider and admit, "Well, yeah, kind of."

"Why?" The vampire asks softly. The hand with the washcloth winds around my waist, trailing suds around my hips, up to my belly button. His other hand scoops my soaking wet hair off my back and brushes it over my shoulder.

I lean into his hand and murmur, "It's just so…anti-climactic."

He chuckles again, dropping the wash cloth with a wet sloshing sound into the bottom of the tub. "Easy enough to change that, pet," he purrs, his lips at my ear now. Exactly like he'd done so recently, out in Giles's living room. "This is your dream, after all." His hands find my hips again, too. Tugging me gently back against him, the sensation of smooth, uninterrupted skin pressed against my back making my eyes flutter shut all over again. He whispers, "S'posed to get what you want in your dreams, yeah?"

"My dreams aren't usually good ones," I murmur lazily, tipping my head back until the crown is cradled against his bare shoulder.

"What about this one?" Spike's lips are feather light against my neck. His hands dip a little lower, one splaying possessively over my lower stomach. The other slipping between my legs. I gasp once, legs wobbling, but he steadies me against him. The pad of his middle finger begins to stroke me in these delirious, perfect circles and he asks, "I'm not a bad dream, am I?"

"No," I tell him honestly, meaning it. This is far, far from a bad dream. I giggle a little, delirious, when he pulls his hand away from me, his arms wrapping more firmly around my middle. "But this is you being all nice and sweet and...Dream Spike. Which is not your usual Spike-self."

The vampire laughs out loud at that. A genuine laugh, one that makes me smile and my eyes flutter open briefly to look at him before shutting them again.

I do like his laugh.

He has a nice laugh.

Still laughing quietly, he asks, "It was sweet of me to sneak into the shower with you?"

"Apparently that's what I wanted," I mumble, eyes still shut.

The vampire open-mouth kisses the throbbing pulse point at the base of my throat. "How you figure?"

I shiver.

"That's what you said," I remind him, my hand reaching back to grip the back of his neck as he drags his hands back up the length of my belly. "You're supposed to get what you want in your dreams."

"Technically you said it," he reminds me, cupping a breast in each palm. Biting down onto my shoulder with blunt teeth once before adding, "Me bein' a reflection of your subconscious and all."

He squeezes me gently, bites down again, and I shiver violently in his arms for a second time.

 _My subconscious is smart._

Smiling lazily, I open my eyes again and stand up straight. Spin around in his arms, noticing how now, and only now, are Dream Spike's eyes wandering down the length of my body like I'd expected them to at first. They flash and darken as he wraps his hands around my waist, gaze heated when it trails back up to mine.

I focus my own eyes on his face, press my palms into his chest. Slide them slowly upward until my arms are wound around his neck and tell him, "I don't think this is how I pictured this happening."

And he pulls me toward him to ask, "You pictured this happenin'?"

"Maybe," I murmur, enjoying the icy cool of his strong chest as I press myself more tightly against him. "Maybe not. Maybe not before tonight...I don't know." Because honestly, I don't know. Not for sure. No, I've never had any sexy time dreams about Spike before tonight…but I've thought about him. It. This. Especially in that brief five seconds in that alley behind the Bronze back before I knew he was a vamp.

And after.

A few times after.

I had thought about it before he'd kissed me last night. Before I'd kissed him back. Before I'd kissed him earlier tonight. I'd thought about doing all of…that before.

But I don't think I'd ever really thought about doing… _this_ before.

Which is funny, considering it's kind of all I can think about right now in the midst of this particular dream.

I tilt my head to the side, still searching his eyes. "Does it mean something that I'm having a naked dream about you now?"

"You askin'," he murmurs, wrapping his arms more tightly around my waist and hoisting me up into his arms. I wrap my legs around his waist and let him slam my back into the wall, pinning me between the chilly wall and his chilly chest. "Or tellin'?"

I stare down into the angled planes of the vampire's face, letting myself look at him more directly, more openly, than I let my non-dream self do. Then I tighten my legs around his hips, arch my back against the wall to strain myself closer to him and say, "That's a really good question."

Spike kisses me then. Growls hotly against my lips and shifts forward, slipping up and inside me in one smooth, powerful thrust and causing me to clutch at him. Dig my nails down hard into his shoulders and throwing my head back, his name a long, loud moan tearing from my lips as his body presses me harder and harder into the freezing wall behind me.

I wake up with a violent, fully body shudder; my eyes snapping open to a sheet of pelting, frigid water raining down on my back and the sounds of rapid knocking on the bathroom door.

Dream. Weird, weird dream.

I blink a few times, frozen, shivering and completely disoriented. Lifting my forehead off the wall, standing up straight again, I glance around the shower for a second. I realize dimly that I'm partially shocked to not find myself wrapped in Spike's arms.

Partially shocked to find that I'm disappointed not to find myself wrapped in Spike's arms.

There's another knock on the door. I blink, glance toward it through the break in the shower curtain. Still a little confused. But then it starts to make sense when, a second later, the sound of Spike's—of _real_ Spike's—voice cuts through the pitter patter of water hitting the tub floor.

"Slayer," he calls, sounding annoyed. Or worried. Or maybe annoyed _and_ worried, which...doesn't seem quite as weird to me now as it might have an hour ago. "What the bloody _hell_ is goin' on in there?"

I frown, still shivering a little. Reach forward and turn the shower off, grab a towel off the rack on the wall and wrap it around my shoulders. Yanking the shower curtain back but not leaving the safety of the tub yet, I hazard, "Spike?"

"Yes, it's me," he mutters through the door, as if to say _who the hell else would it be_. I hear him sigh. "You gonna tell me what's wrong?"

 _Aside from the fact that I just had a dirty, and honestly kind of romantic dream about you?_

"Nothing," I tell him quickly, stumbling out of the tub and out onto the fluffy white bathroom rug. I'm still shaking a little from the cold as I start to rub the towel over my wet limbs.

"Well it can't very well be _nothin'_ , can it," Spike grumbles, still sounding weird. That mix of irritation and possible concern. "I heard you callin' for me."

I freeze in place on the rug, the towel wrapped around my legs as I whip my head up to stare wide eyed at the closed—and very locked—bathroom door. "I…" I stammer, trailing off. Blinking. Oh, _God_. "Nothing." I finish drying my legs and toss the towel away. "Everything's fine."

The vampire scoffs. "It didn't _sound_ fine."

"Why do you care anyway?" I ask, more for something to ask, something to say, than because I'm in the mood to argue with him. I just need to talk. Say something. Distract myself from the fact that the only thing separating my naked body from the vamp I just had a very...revealing dream about is a thin piece of wood.

I lunge for the stack of clean clothes perched on the closed toilet seat, yanking on the grey sweat pants and the first t-shirt I come in contact with.

"Maybe because if somethin' was wrong it'd more'n likely be somethin' having to do with our soldier pals," he mutters, obviously now more annoyed than worried, since I'm clearly not being attacked by the commandos or calling his name at the given moment. I don't think they could have fit through the tiny bathroom window, anyway. "And maybe because the people comin' after you are comin' after me, too."

I pause where I'm standing in front of the mirror, fingers in my hair where I've been trying to comb it out. Well...that is sort of a good point.

Still.

I fluff my wet, slightly tangled hair one more time and say, "I told you, everything's fine. It was just a weird dream." I check to make sure I haven't left a bra or a pair of underwear anywhere on the floor, then move to the door. Unlock it, yank it open, immediately meet a pair of frustrated blue eyes and say, "I must have fallen asleep or something."

A rush of Irish Spring scented steam wafts outward, and I watch as the vampire's eyes immediately go from annoyed to glinting and wicked in a split second. Lips curving up, he reaches over and puts his hand on the door frame. "Hmm."

"What?" I ask, instinctively looking down to make sure I haven't done something stupid. Like put the t-shirt on inside out.

Or not at all.

But, no, it's definitely on...and appears to be on the right way. Right side in and everything. I frown, brow furrowing and glance back up again.

Leaning further into the door frame, cocking his head to the side, he purrs, "You were havin' a naughty dream." A pause, a flash of his eyes. "About _me_."

* * *

Wide eyed, Buffy gapes at me. No doubt wonderin' how I could possibly know her dirty little secret. Not hard to figure, really. Said she'd had a weird dream. Fallen asleep. She'd been callin' my name, and hadn't denied it when I'd asked after it.

And then when she'd opened up the door...bloody hell. The scent. It'd been hangin' all around her, everywhere. Thick and heavy and utterly mouth watering.

Oh, yeah. Little Slayer'd been havin' a very naughty dream about me.

Almost makes it worth the fact the girl'd actually given me quite the scare when I'd first heard her cry out. Cut me off in the middle of a much needed wank, panicked that somethin'…Jesus, I don't even know what I'd thought had happened to her. But this little tid bit here. This almost makes me forget the fact I'd felt like a prize idiot when nothin' _had_ been wrong.

"What?" Buffy asks me, playin' dumb. Long lashes fluttering, pretty lips formin' an "O". "No. No, I…" I watch her trail off, watch her blink a few more times. Watch her realize I'm not buyin' it. Then she sighs and mutters a low, "Shut up, Spike."

I feel the smirk on my face widen.

Buffy shoves past me, leavin' a trail of pungent soap and heady Slayer arousal in her wake. Bloody fucking _hell_ , it's like heaven.

I turn to follow her, inhalin' deeply as I fall into step behind her. "You were havin' a naughty dream about me in the _shower_."

"Shut _up_ , Spike," she grits at me again, padding out into the livin' room on quiet, impossibly tiny bare feet.

"Tell me, pet," I say, keepin' my voice low as I catch up to her beside the sofa. "Was this the first one, or has your old pal Spike made an appearance in your fantasies before?"

Buffy tosses a hard glare at me from over her shoulder. "I mean it."

And she probably does. Not much for empty threats, this Slayer…though I'd be willin' to stake my solid existence that the threat in her voice innit about dusting me. No. Wouldn't think twice about breakin' my nose, maybe, but that'd be about it.

She hasn't gotten her fill of me yet, either.

And aside from that, this…all of this, it's too good. God, too _bloody_ good to worry about whether or not the Slayer's gonna turn round any second and punch me in the face.

Chuckling to myself, I get close to her. Close enough to whisper in her ear, "Just the first one in the shower, maybe?"

Buffy comes to a screeching halt just as she reaches the edge of the sofa, muscles tense, hair wet and drippin' water down her back, soakin' into the fabric of her shirt.

I smirk wider when I realize there's nothin' beneath the white cotton.

No bra. Naughty girl.

"You know what," she starts, her voice still low as she whirls back around to face me.

And I'm closer to her then she'd expected, I'd wager. Don't think she it'd been part of her intimidation technique to come nose to bloody nose with me. But if she hadn't meant to, if she's rattled at all, chit doesn't show it. Her eyes blaze all bright and self-righteous, and I can still smell her. _All_ of her...but now I have the added, spicy scent of her blood in the mix as well. Flowin' wildly through her veins, rushing to her cheeks, pulsing in the hollow of her throat.

I lick my lips, drag my eyes up away from her neck again, open my mouth to say somethin'…and freeze.

Cause sod all, she's l _ookin'_ at me again. Lookin' at me that same way she had earlier, hunkered down behind the dormitory staircase. And before that, clouded by fever…it's that same distant look now. Wet hair plastered to her glowin' cheeks, pink lips parted, her eyes open and bright green and starin' so hard into mine that I think she might actually be tryin' to read my bloody mind.

Christ, she really is a pretty thing, isn't she?

"What?" I whisper, whatever provocative, genius remark I'd been planning dyin' right then and there as I look at her.

Her eyes scan mine for a long second. I count her heart beats as she does, listening intently as they seem to pick up speed just as we're standin' here.

160…161…162 in just the one minute.

And then she throws her arms around my neck and kisses me.


	14. Chapter 14

She's bloody everywhere.

Hot little hands on the back of my neck, buryin' her fingers in my hair. Her heart hammerin' away in her chest. Pullin' me hard against her body, the heat of her skin all but settin' me on fire through threadbare cotton separating me from all that hot, soap scented golden flesh.

All that delicious golden flesh. Ripe and succulent and glowin' from her shower, smooth and nearly vibrating with want where my hands slide over it. A desire so pungent I can smell it as she presses herself against me. Soap and heady arousal and Slayer blood and that sugar scent that's pure Buffy, that's always just right bloody _there_ below the surface. Christ, what does the bint do, roll herself in confectionery before throwin' on her sodding clothes?

Quite the pleasant thought, really.

But not one I get to spend too much time thinkin' about because Buffy's suddenly biting down on my bottom lip, Hard. Suckin' it into her sizzling mouth in a flash before she's shoving her tongue back into mine, swirling it 'round in a dizzying pattern that would've left me lightheaded if I'd actually needed to breathe.

And _fuck_. The way she _tastes_.

It's all too much.

And it's all comin' from bloody nowhere.

Sure, I'd been givin' the girl a hard time before she'd scarpered off to the washroom about this thing happening between us…and again after. Know how much she wants me, don't I? Can't very well hide her body's reactions to me. No more'n I can hide mine to her, I'd imagine. Meant what I'd told her about it bein' only a matter of time before she came runnin' back to me. Beggin' for it. Think I figured she'd be throwin' herself at me good and proper _then_.

But bloody hell, figured the stubborn bint would have had more of a go at pushin' me away before that happened. Everythin' about this Slayer screams obstinate, self-righteous, beautiful bitch. Fact that she's all but climbing into my sodding arms barely an hour after feedin' me those lines about wantin' to deny anything ever happened between us doesn't _exactly_ fit her usual M.O.

My devilish charms aside.

Which is what clues me in to the fact that somethin' isn't quite right here.

I reach my hands out lightning quick, wrap 'em tight around her arms and shove her away from me. Takes some doing, more effort than I'd like, but there's something happenin' here and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let the Slayer, this Slayer, play me like a game of bloody chess.

Not until I know I'll be gettin' something other'n a sodding five finger shuffle afterwards.

Shakin' my head to clear it, I pin Buffy with a hard look and try to ignore the heaving of my chest. Suck in a deep breath through my nose. Try to find some fucking air that _doesn't_ smell like her.

No luck.

Narrowin' my eyes, I hiss, "Now, wait just a bloody—"

But Buffy's havin' none of that. Barely get the words out before she's launchin' all 95 pounds of her deceivingly slender frame toward me again. Coverin' my mouth with hers, she shoves that fiery tongue into my mouth once more and makes the sweetest bloody sound I've ever heard.

 _Right then._

I growl against her lips, drop my hands down to the silky skin beneath her luscious thighs and haul her up into my arms. And this Slayer, my Slayer, she doesn't miss a bloody beat. She wraps her legs vice-like 'round my waist and digs her nails into the back of my neck, pushin' me as she does, sending us stumbling back.

The backs of my knees hit the Watcher's sofa and I drop down onto the cushions, bringin' a writhing, mewling Slayer down with me. Straddlin' my lap, her arms tight 'round my neck, Buffy moans into my mouth when my hands find her hips on instinct. Pinch 'em for good measure. And she's not givin' me space to think, a breath to get a word in, because she's too busy maulin' my lips with her teeth and sweeping her tongue over mine and grindin' her hips down so hard into my already aching cock that its startin' to verge on painful.

Like I said, chit's a wet dream come bloody true.

But bugger all if I can't shake this feeling I'm havin' now. That something's somehow changed. Something's different. I kiss Buffy roughly and push forward, diggin' my fingers hard into her heated skin and carrying her into the Watcher's kitchen. Sit her up on the counter. Press myself hard against her one last time, listen to that mewling, perfect sound tear from her throat again. Slip my hands beneath the white scrap of cotton and slide them up her back, relishin' the way Buffy shivers in my arms and arches toward me.

So bloody perfect.

And fuck, I'm so bloody gone.

Don't know how it happened. Don't know when. Sure as a buggering ice hell dimension don't know _why_. Just know it did. Near as I can figure, I've been had, good and proper. Completely taken in by this Slayer, this… _girl_. This slip of a thing. This blindingly bright physical embodiment of everythin' that's bloody wrong with this world.

Or _right_ with this world.

Christ. Don't even know what it is I mean anymore, do I? Bloody beautiful bitch's got me all turned around.

And Dru…Drusilla. She knew all along, didn't she? Of course she did. Knew this would happen. Knew it was _already_ happenin'. Buffy'd been the reason Drusilla had left me to begin with. Never understood it. Thought she was just a few books short of a library. Turns out the dozy bint was right all along. Which means this, right here…is a lot more than just an easy means to physical gratification. Or an excuse to humiliate the chit since I can't very well bite her. Or even just baggin' myself a third Slayer…in a manner of speaking.

 _Bugger._

The realization has my eyes snappin' open wide. In a rush, needin' just half a mo to get my head on straight, I pull my mouth away from hers. Even though right now I'm tempted to say I'd put staking myself through the heart on the list of things I'd rather do.

Rather have the Slayer dust me than have to quit kissin' her.

How's that for perversion?

Not like Buffy's makin' the decision any easier on me though, is she? Course not. With those bee-stung lips and dark, glazed eyes and still smellin' like soap and sex and _fuck_ , just wanna tear those tiny sodding shorts of hers to shreds with my teeth.

 _Focus, mate._

Shakin' my head for what feels like the hundredth bleeding time in the last two bleeding minutes, I pull back an inch further so I can look down into her face. Get a little air between us. Clear my throat.

Right.

 _"_ Care to fill a fella in on just what exactly it is you're doin'?" I ask her, voice low. My hands are still up under her shirt, palms pressin' to her scorching skin.

"You're kidding, right?" she asks back, her voice equally low. Her arms are still wrapped round my neck.

I arch a skeptical brow.

Buffy huffs and makes a big show of being frustrated, fixin' me with pinched look as she says all matter of fact-like, "I _was_ kissing you."

Because I'm a bloody fuckin' moron.

"Yeah," I tell her pointedly, narrowing my eyes as I tilt my head to the side. "Got that Part. A little fuzzy on the why bit, though."

She wasn't expectin' that, I'd wager.

I watch her steadily as she blinks at me a few times. Her lashes flutter a bit as she looks up at me, slides her hands down away from my neck. Leaves 'em resting on my shoulders, though. Then, brow furrowed, she asks, "Huh?

I slide my own hands down to her waist again, fighting off the urge to smirk when she makes one of those little gaspin' sounds I like so much. Brilliant, they are. But there'll be time enough for gloating later. Now, I wanna get my finger on the pulse of what's happenin' here.

"Not even an hour ago you were fightin' me fang and talon over wantin' to play pretend like nothin' ever happened between us, pet. And now you're…" I trail off, eyes dropping down to scan nice and slow over her body. Taking in the flush at her neck, the full rise and fall of her chest, perfect nipples pebblin' up beneath her white shirt. And that scent. Her arousal is so thick between us now it's makin' my mouth water. _Bloody hell._ I do smirk now, fannin' my lashes back up to meet her eyes and purr, "Well, you know what you are, don't you?"

Her eyes flash, go dark and ravenous.

I drop my gaze down to the space between her legs, barely covered by the scrap of fabric passin' for shorts. Fuck. How bleeding easy it'd be to tear them to the side, rip the sorry excuse for clothing asunder and bury my face between her thighs. Christ, she'd love it. Know she would. Be surprised if she'd ever had it done before, let alone done _proper._

Bet she tastes like the bloody sun itself.

I ignore the way my demon roars to life at the thought, shovin' it aside for later as Buffy glares sexually sharpened daggers at me and says, "Frustrated?"

I chuckle at her. Lean in a little closer and whisper, "In heat?"

Mmm. Reckon by the fire blazin' in her eyes now that that hadn't been the right thing to say.

"You know what, you're right," Buffy hisses, pullin' her hands away from my shoulders and shoving me back a step or two in the process. "I don't know what I was thinking."

I feel the smug smirk fall from my lips as quick as it'd been put there in the first place.

Buffy shimmies forward an inch or so, movin' toward the edge of the bench and preparing to slide back down to the ground. But we haven't come this sodding far...bloody hell, I haven't come at _all_ , to stop now. So I step forward again before she can slide from the bench, planting my hands on her hips to hold her in place and leanin' forward to get closer to her lips again. Not kissin' her, but close.

Have to admit, more'n a little surprised when she just sits there and lets me, but s'pose I shouldn't be. Not anymore.

" _Yes_ ," I tell her knowingly, raisin' an eyebrow in a bid to sound and look more sure than I feel. "You do. Just wanna know for myself." I pull back a bit so I can see her eyes, the way she's gazin' up at me like she hasn't the foggiest what to say next. Frowning, I tilt my head to the side and ask, "This all because of that dream back there, or…?"

Buffy frowns and shifts back, like she's wondering why I'm askin' in the first place. "Does it matter?"

Bloody wish it didn't.

Not sure why it bloody _does_.

Probably an easy answer to that, but one I don't feel like spendin' much time on at the moment. So I shrug instead, inch a little closer again. "Just an interestin' little turn of events is all," I explain, keepin' my voice real low and casual-like. "Thought for sure it'd take just a touch longer to get the truth through that thick skull of yours. Never pegged you as the type to lay down and roll over."

Though now the thought's out in the open...have to admit it's a mighty appealin' one.

"I told you, Spike," Buffy whispers meaningfully, bringin' me right back into the now with this rock hard edge to her voice as her eyes search mine. "You don't know me."

Sod it. Not exactly wrong, is she? Definitely hadn't seen this much comin'. Not tonight, anyway. Still. Not about to let her in on that little secret, am I?

I widen my eyes and nod once, smirkin' as I lean away from her again. "Is _that_ what this is about, then?" I use the grip I have to shift Buffy's body closer to the bench's edge, situate myself more fully between her legs. "Tryin' to prove me wrong, Slayer? Gotta say..." I slide my hand down from her hip, runnin' my palm along the velvet length of her thigh; down to her knee and slowly back up again. I whisper, "You picked a helluva way to show me up." Then sweep the pad of my thumb below the hem of her shorts.

She gasps on contact. Trembles violently beneath my touch.

And I'm a vampire. Fucking undone.

"You're complaining?" Buffy asks me, her voice still hard but deliciously breathless now. Can't hide that from me, much as I'm right sure she wants to. Can't hide the hammer of her pulse, either.

Even with all that glorious defiance flickerin' in her eyes.

Leanin' forward to brush the tip of my nose over hers, I draw her heavenly scent deep into my useless lungs one more time like the bloody addict I've become. Grip her round the upper thighs and pull her into me, hoist her legs up around my waist. Deliberately grind my pelvis into hers and ask, "This feel like I'm complainin' to you?"

* * *

 _No._

Feels like a whole lot of something, but complaining...that'd be a no. A big one.

A really big one.

Oh, _God_. I can't speak.

The vampire is obviously expecting an answer, but there's no way I can speak. Not now. Not after…

He shifts again, pressing himself more firmly into me and my body reacts instantly, compulsively. This tiny sound leaves my lips, one I don't think I've ever even made before tonight, and I arch my back. Squeeze his hips more tightly between my thighs to keep him from pulling away from me again.

To keep _Spike_ from pulling away from me.

I feel like my brain needs the reminder again. My body definitely does.

That it's Spike I'm practically clawing at. Clinging to.

Spike's standing in front of me.

Spike's been the one kissing me.

Spike's pressing the very, _very_ obvious evidence of what all that kissage has done to him between my legs and all I'm doing in response is wrapping my legs more _tightly_ around his hips to try and get myself closer to it.

My brain is short circuiting.

There's probably smoke coming out my ears and everything.

That's it. That has to be it. I had that dream, and that dream fried the wires in my already hazy, majorly sleep deprived brain that tell me right from wrong and now it's no longer in the building with my body.

It's no longer in the same _zip code_ as my body.

Buffy's brain is completely and totally disconnected from Buffy's body, the second of which seems to be _super_ jazzed about the fact that it's been getting to run the show for the past ten minutes.

Not that I even mind all that much. It's nice letting the body run things for a change. And the way things are shaping up, it's looking like it'll be running the show for the rest of the night.

Spike's still gazing down at me through his lashes, dark eyes all sparkly and suggestive and his lips quirked up in that stupid way that makes me want to punch him and kiss him all at the same time. And he's asked me a question. I don't remember what. Can't remember.

So I take a chance and shake my head no, because I just have a feeling that's what the answer would have been.

"No," the vampire agrees with a rumbling purr and a nod, leaning a little closer to me. He braces his hands down on the counter, on either side of my hips. "Just tryin' to get a read on you, pet. One minute I'm disgustin' and deluded and what all and the next you're throwin' yourself at me. Awfully big switch to pull." I swallow and watch as his eyes narrow, the smug expression dissolving into one a little more genuinely curious as he murmurs, "Tryin' to figure why the change of mind."

"And you can't go all Analyze This some other time?" I manage to ask, though my voice has zero in the way of venom in it when I do. It's too breathy. Too high. Impatient in a way that will be so totally embarrassing tomorrow morning when all the lusty wrong haze has worn off and I can form a semi-coherent thought other than _vampire, pretty_.

"Another time?" Spike asks, arching a scarred brow and leaning back away from me. I have to fight the urge to reach my hands up and pull him back again. Also, the urge to slam my fists into the countertop in frustration.

God, I feel like any second my body's going to explode. Every tiny shift of his marble-like body against mine is driving me insane, fanning the flames he'd begun earlier outside higher and higher. Causing this completely wig worthy desire for him that had piqued in the shower, in my dream, to spread all through my veins. It leaves my cheeks hot and my fingers tingling and my skin feeling so, so tight.

Something made just that much more _painfully_ clear when he shifts away from me, pulling any and every inch of agonizingly perfect friction away from my core and leaving me feeling aching and empty.

I watch through hooded eyes as he gazes down at me. Tilts his head to the side and murmurs, "Just answer the question, pet."

"Spike," I warn, except it doesn't sound like a warning at all. It sounds like a desperate moan.

It _is_ a desperate moan.

And if I wasn't so helplessly preoccupied with my body's sudden and verging on vicious need to possess the vampire standing in front of me in every possible shape and form, I'd probably care a lot more about that.

"Is it because you're wantin' to prove me wrong?" Spike asks me silkily, still standing too far away from me. The chilled tips of his fingers barely ghost the sides of my bare legs in a way that's totally deliberate but made to feel like it isn't as he continues, "Show old Spike he can't read you as well as he thinks he can?"

Wrong. So wrong.

 _But..._ "If I say yes can we be done talking about this?" I ask, my voice still breathy and impatient as I instinctively arch into him again. Use my legs to yank him back against me.

There's a sharp burst of womanly pride that flares to life in my chest when Spike falls forward against the counter and growls, his lips nearly touching mine. For a second, just the one, I think he's about to kiss me. And not just a small kiss, either. One of those bruising, perfect, make-you-go-melty kisses that sort of hurts but feels so good at the same time.

He doesn't.

Instead, I feel his iron grip tighten further on the counter top beside my legs and he smirks. Curls his impressively long tongue up to the roof of his mouth and murmurs, "Won't rightly believe you now."

And then he does kiss me, but not a bone melting kiss. A peck. A soft, quick press of his lips to mine that lasts maybe a second or two at most. And then he's pulling back a little bit and chuckling low in his throat.

If it didn't make me so unbelievably mad, I'd probably have time to consider how abnormally normal that kiss felt. As it is, it _does_ make me so unbelievably mad, so I push the introspection of the soft, small kiss aside for another time and put a hand on Spike's chest instead. Shove him back a step or two, drop my legs away from his waist and sit up straighter.

"I don't even know why you're acting all surprised guy all of a sudden," I hiss, starting to wonder if going through with this whole _letting myself do what I want for once_ thing is even worth it if the vamp's going to insist on being so stupidly smug the whole time. I raise my eyebrows and add, "You seemed so sure of yourself earlier."

Spike's brow furrows. "Earlier?"

"Oh, come on," I say, rolling my eyes up to the ceiling and wishing the empty ache between my legs would go away because it's way too distracting. I pin the vampire with a hard look and mimic him. Badly. "'I want you, you want me, we want each other', blah, blah. Your little _it's only a matter of time_ speech?"

Spike's eyes narrow knowingly and he nods again, looking less confused now. "Mmm, sure," he purrs, then eyes me through his lashes. Narrows his twinkling gaze further and adds, "But I gave you and that bloody stubborn streak of yours at least a day." He reaches a hand up to drag two long fingers over the curve of my collar bone, the too-tight skin peeking out from the v-neck of my shirt. " _You_ barely made it an hour."

My inner muscles clench, a sharp, unbidden throb settling between my legs and I find myself biting back my own instinctive growl.

" _God_ , okay, we get it." I reach up and smack his hand away, watching as his eyes shoot back to mine and he grins at me. "Spike was right, Buffy was wrong. _Fine_. Do you wanna get all gloaty about this, or do you wanna just…"

"Right," the vampire says quickly, his expression suddenly going serious again.

And before I can react, Spike's gripping me by the back of the neck and kissing me again. Deeply this time, not the quick peck from a moment ago and not quite the earth shattering, stomach dropping kisses from outside on the quad either. There's both hunger and urgency here, but it's not desperate. Or violent. Or any of the things I'd probably expected of the vampire before last night. Before earlier tonight. It's possessive, sure, but also bizarrely gentle.

Something I don't take the time to think a lot about as I greedily return the kiss. Happy to have the distraction of his lips to keep my mind from deep, dark truth baring thoughts as I slide my hands around from his hips to the cool metal of his belt buckle and grapple with it. I yank the thick leather strap free and tug on the waistband of his jeans while his hand slides up my neck and tangles deeper into my hair, his icy tongue darting out to cool my bottom lip, to sweep up and intertwine with mine. He groans, deep and masculine, against my lips. I cling to him, dizzy. Breathless. Delirious. Tug harder on his waistband to pull him blindly against the ache between my legs. Hard, hungry, wild; like if I don't get what I need from him right now one or both of us will dissolve into dust and it'll be over before it begins.

But Spike is so…so…God, I don't even know what Spike is.

Delicious, but that's a different story.

And not what I mean.

He isn't matching my frenzy. My need. Isn't nipping and biting at my lips or growling low in his throat or tearing viciously at my clothes. He isn't really being _vicious_ at all. The way he's cradling the back of my head, the gentle exploration of his tongue, even the way his free hand is taking command of my body, gripping my hip…it all feels different. Different than last night. Different than the greedy sort of push and pull bizzarro power struggle from on campus. This feels deliberate. Not a last second, spur of the moment thing…not driven purely by lust. Not like I'd planned it to be when I'd thrown myself into his arms fifteen minutes ago.

Everything about what's happening between us in this moment right now feels like I'm viewing Spike from an entirely different lens. My perception's all off, I know. All wonky and rosy from the shower dream. From how my subconscious had portrayed him in the shower dream. He'd been soft. Sweet. Nice.

Comforting.

And it's thinking about nice, sweet, dream-shower Spike that makes me do it I think. I _think_. But suddenly, everything shifts.

I stop tugging at his waistband and cautiously inch my fingers away from the button on his jeans.

Coast my palms up over his black cotton t-shirt.

Slide my hands up to cup his razor sharp cheeks.

And I let myself melt against the vampire, all the tension leeching from my shoulders as I kiss him slowly. Inhale the leather and wind-blown scent of his skin. Moan softly into his mouth.

Spike matches me for a second, without thinking. Touching the tip of his tongue to mine and kissing me back deep and slow, hooking his arm around the small of my back to pull me almost tenderly against him. Making my head spin, dizzy and light for a whole, massively different reason than before.

And then he tears his lips from mine again and steps backward.

Blinking at me through dark, dazed eyes, he scans my face for an endlessly long moment. Then, "What the bloody hell happened in that dream?"

* * *

I watch Buffy's eyes go from half shut and lust ridden to wild and wide in a split second.

Lips red and swollen, cheeks just plain red, she drops her hands away from my face and swallows. "What?"

"Your steamy little shower speculation, pet," I remind the chit impatiently, takin' a step back. Not quite loosening my hold on her, though. "What happened?"

She opens her mouth in a flash to respond, gets half a word out and stops. Stares at me. Closes her mouth again. She tries once more, this time not even gettin' the front half of whatever she's thinking to come out. I watch silently, one brow arched, as the Slayer seems to be at a complete loss for words.

Seems I've rendered the bint speechless.

Not nearly half as funny as I'd imagined it'd be.

Finally, she seems to give up on lookin' for an excuse and sighs. Tells me quietly, "I thought you'd guessed that already."

I inch closer to her again. Shiftin' a bit, I let my hand slide along the curve of her lower back, dip beneath the hem of her shirt. Her skin is like a live flame beneath it. Buttery smooth and sizzling hot. And I have to bite back the urge to sod this whole buggering dream issue and rip the material away with my bare hands right here and bloody now.

But I'm a mite too curious now.

"Yeah," I murmur, voice low, eyes unwaveringly focused on hers. "Thought I had, too."

Thought that bit at least had been unmistakable. The sound of her callin' my name. The scent. The dodgy way she'd been actin' once I'd called her on it. All but throwin' herself at me.

Yeah. No real question where all that had come from, was there?

But then that kiss.

Bloody…buggering fuck, that _kiss_.

Thrown me for a right and proper loop, it has. Cause last I checked, havin' a naughty dream 'bout someone doesn't make you go all soft and sighing for 'em. Had my fair share of naughty dreams about the Slayer before now and not a one of 'em had made me bloody swoon for the girl. Sure as all hell hadn't made me want to kiss her like _that_. Like she meant somethin' other than a conquest. A warm body. A chance at a halfway decent fuck.

Granted, I'm a sight more'n halfway decent, sure. But _she_ doesn't know that.

Whatever she'd been fantasizin' about back there, it'd been more than your average hot and bothered reverie.

So what the bloody hell _had_ happened in that dream?

And why the bloody hell is it botherin' me so much not to know?

* * *

God, why can't I think of anything to say?

And why the hell is it bothering me so much that I'm blanking?

It's an easy enough question, right? What happened in my dream. So why can't I just open my mouth and answer him? It shouldn't be that hard. He already knows most of it.

So...why then? Why can't I open my mouth and say I had a sexy shower dream that felt a lot more real than dreamy?

The real reason I can't seem to answer him I think is a simple one.

Because I don't know. He's asking me what happened in my dream and I can't tell him because _I_ don't even know. I don't think it had been a Slayer dream. It hadn't been at all like the other dream I'd had about Spike a couple days ago. That one had _totally_ been a Slayer dream. Besides that, the one in the shower hadn't been anything that Slayer dreams usually are. Creepy. Foreboding. Full of vague danger and prophetic impending doom and wiggy words that never seem like they mean anything but usually end up meaning a whole lot.

If anything, the Spike shower dream had been the opposite of a Slayer dream.

Relaxing. Pleasant. Like, _really_ pleasant.

Was that the reason then? I'd had a totally normal sexy dream about someone, and that someone just happened to be Spike?

Spike, who's here and now and so temptingly available. Spike, who so perfectly represents all of the things I'm too afraid to ever admit to wanting. Death. Danger. A dark place to explore.

And a safe place to land, I realize numbly, gazing up at the vampire in question. Spike, as wiggy as it sounds, is safe. My subconscious thinks Spike is safe.

Relatively speaking, anyway.

I don't have to worry about breaking him or giving away my super-secret Slayer identity like I do with normal guys, and I don't have to worry about him going totally evil or losing his soul or whatever because he's Spike. He's evil already. It doesn't hurt that he's so insanely easy to look at. And it'd be an easy enough mess to clean up when it all inevitably goes majorly Buffy-sized wrong and blows up in my face. Because it will.

I don't know. There's more to it, probably. There always seems to be.

But I don't want to think about what all that _more_ might be.

Not that it matters much whether I want to think about it right now or not, since the time I've now spent disconnected from Spike's seriously dangerous lips has apparently been long enough for my brain to reconnect to my body. Long enough for me to tear my eyes away from his pretty, pretty face and glance around us. Long enough for me to realize where we are. Everything that we've been doing. What we'd still _be_ doing if Spike hadn't suddenly gone all insightful vampire and started pressing me about my dream.

It all kind of melts into my head at once.

That I'm sitting here on top of my Watcher's kitchen counter. That I'm practically straddling the bleached vampire. That his hand is still very much touching me. His hand…along with other…parts is still _very_ much touching me. That his mouth is swollen and red from my kisses and hardly three inches away from mine.

And maybe the most wig worthy realization of them all is the fact that even now with my head all clear again I still kind of don't want to move away from him.

More than kind of.

I don't want to move away from him.

Not only do I not want to move away from him, but I very much want to stay right here. And why do those two things seem distinctly different to me? And by right here I mean _right_ here, with the vampire perched between my legs, my knees resting against his hips and his hand cool against the overheated skin of my back. It feels good.

Everything the vampire's done tonight has felt _so_ good.

It probably isn't hurting things now that I'm remembering all of the freakishly nice things he'd said to me last night, either. Things about Angel and Angelus, and about Parker. And for the second time tonight, the thought strikes me hard and fast. And right in the middle of my forehead. That he's right. He's right about the lustiness and the wanting him and this weird, desperate need I'm suddenly feeling to explore what all of that really means.

God, does _he_ even know how right he is?

What was it he'd said before? Something about being friends with benefits. But we're not friends. We barely tolerate each other. We're barely even allies. We're….barely even allies that want to get inexplicably groiny with each other, sure, but that doesn't _really_ change the facts.

Does it?

The fact that he's a vampire and I'm the Slayer. The fact that we're natural born enemies, and he doesn't exactly have a soul to be concerned with. The fact that once he gets whatever it is that's all broken in his brain fixed he'll go back to trying to kill me. I know it. He knows it. Everybody knows it.

So why does all that suddenly seem to matter to the amount of zero?

I swallow hard against the lump that's risen up to the back of my throat and cough quietly, clearing my throat. Hesitantly turn my eyes back up to Spike's.

Oh.

That's why, maybe. That look on his face now is why I think it all seems to matter a little less than it did before. He isn't looking at me like he's barely tolerating me. Or like a friend. He's looking at me like I'm something somewhere between the two, maybe something he can't quite get a grip on himself. His face is still only an inch or two from mine, eyes dark, but softer than I've seen them before. Flashing back and forth between pure, undiluted frustration and lust and a gentle, genuine confusion. Definitely lots of confusion happening there. His dark brows are drawn together, lips looking stupidly soft and pouty as he stares down at me.

Oh, God.

I want to kiss him again.

And what's worse is that I'm totally bugged that he isn't kissing _me_ anymore. I liked the kissing. The kissing was…nice. Nice in a way other than the lust bunny way the kissing had been nice before I'd had the dream. Before I'd _remembered_ the dream. And I guess at this point with my brain making with the big connectedness to my body that I can recognize that all the super nice kissing happened _after_ I remembered the way my brain had conjured up Spike in the shower. How comfortable things had been with him. How warm and safe. How affectionate.

Wait.

Wait, wait…let's rewind that. Affectionate? Me. With _Spike_?

No.

Except...yes. A big yes.

Color me confused. Here I'd been thinking that the shower dream had just been my hazy Buffy brain telling me to let go and give into desire and temptation and all the things that Spike theoretically represents and blah, blah, blah and now I'm wondering if it had actually been showing me that I could potentially have real, honest to God fluffy feelings for the vamp.

Okay…where the hell did _that_ come from?

 _And how do I make it stop?_

* * *

She's thinkin' real hard about something. Can't tell exactly what though, can I? Can't read the chit's mind. Much as I might wish I could. Much as I might like to pretend I can.

The Slayer is a mystery to me.

Well not _the_ Slayer, but this Slayer. That's for bloody certain. Though I'm startin' to suspect the girl's as much an enigma to herself as she is to everyone else around her.

I watch her intently, keepin' my eyes glued to her face as she takes a quick moment to glance around the small galley kitchen. Brow furrowed, I pay close attention to her. Wonderin' why in the bloody hell I suddenly sodding care so much about what she's thinkin'. When findin' out what's happening behind those green eyes started to feel so damned important.

Fuck.

She's got me constantly on edge, this girl. Wonderin' what she'll say next. Do next. If she'll reach up and pull me closer or shove me away. Kiss my lips or punch me in the bloody nose. A guessin' game that has me completely stuck, pinned to the spot, desperate to know what's goin' on inside that head of hers.

Because Christ, whatever it is she's thinkin' through now must be a helluva thing. I can see it, the little wheels turnin' in her head as she bites down on her lower lip. Makes a short sound in the back of her throat and finally turns her eyes back to mine. I watch her watchin' me for a bit, her eyes on mine before droppin' down to my mouth.

And then her eyes suddenly go wide. Wide, and clearer than they've been all night. All that delicious color drains from her cheeks. She shifts back, reaching up to press her small, searing palms into my chest like she's getting' ready to shove me back.

And Jesus, I should've seen this comin' a bloody mile away. My fault, isn't it? Pushin' her. Goading her about the timetable in my head. About that stupid, ruddy dream.

 _Way to go and bugger things up, mate._

I dig my heels into the floor and wait for the impact, for her to shove me fully back into the wall with all the force and power I know's coiled in her arms.

She doesn't.

She murmurs instead, "This is a bad idea."

Of bloody _course_ it is.

I suck a deep, unneeded breath in through my nose and feel my jaw clench tightly. Roll my eyes up to the ceiling, nod once. Feelin' like the world's greatest git, and frustrated on a lot more than one level, I grit my teeth and start to step backwards, givin' her room to escape from the kitchen.

But Buffy throws me for yet another loop before I can. Of course she does. You know, the only thing even remotely predictable about the bint is turnin' out to be just how surprising she can be.

Because she stops me.

I freeze in place, feeling her tiny fingers twist hard into the fabric of my shirt. Then, her voice so soft that even with my exceptional hearing I can barely make it out, she whispers, "With…Giles right upstairs, I mean."

Lookin' down into her eyes as they spark and flash up at me, I feel the tug of a wicked smirk start to curve the corner of my mouth.

Well, well.

Innit that interesting.

* * *

 _This is a bad idea_.

I should have left it at that.

Should have let the bleached blonde think that's all there was to it. Should have let him be annoyed. Should have let him walk away.

God.

Ask me a million times why I'd added that second part and I'll still probably deny knowing why.

"Right," Spike murmurs, his voice low and rough and knowing. Eyes glued to mine. "Yeah. The Watcher." He purses his lips then and sighs, glancing over my shoulder and up toward the loft. "Almost forgot."

"Me too," I admit, the fingertips of his right hand icy cool pressed to the small of my back. Starting to move in slow, small circles, doing a pretty decent job of making me forget all over again.

My cheeks heat up and Spike inches back toward me, settles himself comfortable between my legs once more. He seems to fit there. Spike seems to think so too, because he's doing that gazing unashamedly down at me thing, long lashes fluttering as he tilts his head slowly to the side.

My mouth goes dry.

Yeah. Pretty sure nothing good can come from this.

Hyper aware of the way he's looking at me, I drop my eyes down to my hands. My hands…that are still tangled up tight in the soft cotton of Spike's t-shirt. I'm halfway trying to ignore the hard plane of his chest, the curve of his muscles, below them. I catch myself wondering if he's as statue-like as I'd imagined. It's hard to tell through the fabric.

Exactly how mixed messagy would it be if I just yanked his shirt off?

I frown.

And since when do I care if I'm sending Spike mixed messages?

"Slayer?"

My eyes snap back up to his. "Huh?"

He smirks at me. Oh, God, had I just been ogling his chest? I had. I totally had. And he'd caught me, which is just perfect. Not that the vampire doesn't already know he'd been right about the Buffy wanting Spike thing, because I'm pretty sure my unapologetic groping of him post-shower had given all that away for good.

"You didn't hear a bloody word I just said, did you?" he asks, lazily reaching the long fingers of his free hand up to brush a few stray strands of damp hair away from my shoulder. I watch his eyes drift toward the length of exposed throat visible to him now.

Cheeks going hot again, I whisper, "I'm not exactly focused girl right now."

Spike considers me for a moment, his eyes gone just a tiny bit wider than before. Like he's surprised that I've admitted it. Then he frowns a little, narrowing his eyes again as they scan over mine. "You really hung up on wakin' Rupert or are you just lookin' for an excuse?"

"An excuse?" I ask, feeling pinned. And awkward.

And nervous. Around _Spike_.

This is so worse than I thought.

"Yeah," he murmurs pointedly, somehow blissfully oblivious to the utter turmoil I have banging around in my brain. I watch him arch a scarred brow, feel him shift forward to press himself a little harder against me in a super deliberate motion. I swallow again, and he smirks and whispers, "Not to finish what you've started."

Oh.

 _Oh, no._

I can't finish what I've started. Not now.

That's got apocalypse level disaster written all over all of it. We've all seen just how mega-bad things tend to go for me whenever, um…acts of a physical nature are involved. I mean, we've got the not so stellar track record already of the guys I sleep with going all fangy and grr on me, which is pretty much the pits as far as morning afters go. Sure technically Spike is already evil, so you know, not a huge risk there. But then we have the cling factor to consider. I couldn't bring myself to kill Angelus for months after sleeping with Angel on my birthday, even after he'd made it more than clear that seeing me and everyone I loved dead was pretty much his reason for being. And God, I'd _barely_ had the warm fuzzies for Parker when I'd made the oh so brilliant choice to get naked with him, and we'd all seen how not awesome that had played out.

So no, while I can't even begin to wrap my head around what exactly it is I'm suddenly feeling for Spike, or begin to _want_ to wrap my head around what exactly it is, if I know anything at all it's that jumping into bed or, er…kitchen…countertop…with him probably isn't the best way to calmly and rationally sort things out.

Sure as heck isn't the best way to go about making these freaky feelings go _away_.

So, yeah. Duh. It's a totally, obviously obvious excuse not to finish what I've started.

But Spike doesn't need to know that.

"Giles," I lie quickly, jumping on my obvious excuse and clinging to it like the life vest it is. "Definitely Giles." _And not the fact that I'm starting to think I might have big, scary, real feelings for you. Definitely not that._ "I think it's safe to say he'd be pretty wigged if we woke him up….like this."

I drop my gaze down to the connectedness of our pelvises for emphasis, raising my eyebrows when I chance a glance back up at him.

But Spike's being Spike, and doing that thing where he eyes me through his lashes and nods his head but not even remotely like he believes me. Probably because my hands are still flat against the muscles of his chest and I haven't made even the smallest shift to move them.

Instead of calling me on the lie though, Spike makes a very human-like move to exhale a sigh through his nose. Left hand still drawing silky, absent patterns on my back, he drops his right hand down to the counter top and leans his weight onto it. Cocks his head and fans long lashes down to my waist, asks me a little too seductively, "He a light sleeper then?"

Everything in my body tightens, throbs achingly hard once and melts promptly into a puddle of goo.

Because Spike just wouldn't be Spike if he made things easy.

"I have no idea," I tell the vampire truthfully, hoping the random shift between honesty and dishonesty will help throw him off the dishonesty's scent. Then I shift backward a little and wrinkle my nose up, raise one eyebrow in a way I hope is convincing and add, "But it seems like this _might_ fall into the same category as those 'unnecessary risks' he was warning us about."

Spike chuckles at that. It's the same low, rumbling sound from somewhere down deep in his chest that I'd noticed liking for the first time in my dream. My lips itch to curve upward. I guess I like it outside the dream, too.

Yeah.

 _So_ much worse than I thought.

"What," he muses mischievously, "you mean the risk of your Watcher wakin' up to find the Big Bad shaggin' his Slayer sideways on his kitchen bench?"

 _Well…_ "Yeah," I murmur in quiet agreement before I can stop myself, watching Spike's eyes widen and flash once in the dim kitchen light.

Feeling weird and suddenly way too exposed, I bite down on my lip and finally pull my hands away from the vampire's chest. I keep my eyes on Spike though, watch carefully as he nods again, the movement seeming a little more genuine this time. He tilts his head forward, dropping his gaze down to the countertop as his brow furrows.

"Good point," the vampire agrees finally, even if it is a little on the sour side. Then he sighs and pulls his palm slowly away from my back, planting it on the counter top beside my left hip so now I'm blocked in on either side by two pale hands.

Pale, strong hands.

Pale, strong…masculine hands. That I really want cupping my cheeks or tangled in my hair or tracing lazy circles over the tight, hot skin of my belly before dipping...

"Also," I add in a rush, looking back up again at the exact same time Spike does, his face suddenly right _there_ and so close to me that his nose nearly brushes mine. My eyes drop to his mouth immediately, and I pause for a second before clearing my throat. "I-I don't think my sanity can handle another episode of the Giles Nearly Seeing Buffy Naked show."

* * *

 _Jesus. Christ._

I inhale and clench my jaw, feel the muscle tickin' there as I let that particularly delicious visual image settle behind fluttering eyelids. As if keepin' my hands to my Goddamn self wasn't hard enough already? If the bint's really all that concerned bout wakin' her Watcher she oughtta be a bit more mindful of the words passin' those pretty pink lips of hers.

Girl's not wrong though.

Only been fantasizing over bedding this Slayer since first layin' eyes on her in that poncey little dance club two years ago. Wouldn't do now to be this close, this bloody close, and have the whole thing go pear shaped because her Watcher decided he needed a buggering late night glass of water. Put a stop to things with Buffy right quick, that.

Imagine one more interruption from the old man would be the final nail in the coffin.

Quite literally, in my case.

"Wanker'd probably stake me outright if he caught us, anyway," I mutter, my eyes glued to hers. Keenly aware of the staccato beat of her heart, the subtle shifts in her breathing. The way she's leanin' a bit closer to me every bleeding second in spite of the brilliant point she'd made about wakin' the old man a bar second ago.

"More than probably," Buffy says, the small stream of air ticklin' my lips as she does. She inclines her head to my left, managin' to align her mouth with mine in the process. "Plus, kitchen. No shortage of wooden utensils to choose from."

That's certainly true.

Don't wager that's the reason she's sayin' it, though.

"Reckon he'd go for the spoon or the spatula?" I ask, lettin' the tip of my nose graze the tip of hers, listening for the slight hitch in her breathing as I do.

I'm not disappointed.

"Spoon," she breathes, the heat of her mouth so close to mine that I can taste the honey of her breath on my tongue when I run it along my bottom lip. Her eyes drop down and she murmurs, "Definitely spoon."

My lips quirk up at one corner. "Sounds painful."

"It would be," she whispers, givin' the slightest tug on my shirt, pullin' me forward to bridge the gap between us.

I let her pull me, taken in by the sight of her glistening lips, and slide my hand up to test cupping the side of her blazin' cheek. "Best not to test that theory then."

And I kiss her.

Not for the first time, mind you. Kissed her first, didn't I? Last night, that'd been all me. But it'd also been violent. Possessive. Born out of some twisted sense of demanding and lust and if I'm bein' honest with myself, a bit of desire to hurt the girl. Humiliate her. Use her up, tear her down in the only bloody way I had available to me with my fangs bein' out of commission.

So this might not be the first time, but it's probably the first time I've kissed her like _this_. Soft, sweet and slow. The way I might've kissed Dru once upon a time.

And if _that_ thought innit a bucket of fuckin' freezing water, I dunno what is.

Buffy and I pull away from each other at the same time, both our eyes goin' wide as we realize somethin' new's just happened here. _Is_ happening. Somethin' that shouldn't be happening. Not between the bloody fuckin' Slayer and _me_. Talk about crossin' lines, breakin' rules. This right here is on an entirely different level.

Oh, bloody hell.

Shiftin' as far back as she can from me, Buffy opens and closes her mouth a few times. Drops her hands away from me in a panic. Hurriedly tuckin' locks of wavy, golden hair behind her ears she ducks her gaze and stammers an awkward little, "Uh, I have to—"

"Yeah, right. Good," I say quickly, cuttin' her off and steppin' out of her way, not looking at her as she slides down to her feet and takes off in the direction of the wash room. I wait until I hear the door slam shut before bracin' my hands on the bench again, leaning forward to exhale a shaky breath. _Fuck me._ "Good."


	15. Chapter 15

I'm not sure which part is wigging me out more.

The fact that I should be completely and totally and massively disgusted by…whatever it is exactly that's just happened between the bleached vampire and me.

Or the fact that I'm not.

So far, I'm leaning more towards the fact that I'm not.

Because I should be. Right? I know I should be freaked and horrified and all with the big ick because I'd just been full on sucking face with Spike. God, that I'd just been about to do a lot more than just that with Spike.

That I still kind of want to go back out there and finish what I'd started with Spike.

But that's totally the lust talking. Sure, he's a vampire and everything, but he's also a hottie. A hottie that knows his way around a kiss…among other things. And I mean, I get it. It's not like I've completely lost my mind. I haven't forgotten what Spike is just because he's currently neutered. Spike is soulless. Spike is dangerous. Spike is vampire, and vampire equals bad.

But…with the lips, and those arms, and that _accent_.

I might be the Slayer but I'm also a red blooded American woman who can't be held entirely responsible for the effect a rumbling, dripping-with-sex voice has on her.

So, yeah. Lust. The lustiness makes all kinds of very sensible sense. And okay, yeah, there might be…a lot of it. But that's normal. And that's all it is anyway, is lust. Nothing else.

Definitely not actual feelings.

Which is great, and explains everything. Accounts for just about every single one of my actions over the past half hour except for the last one. The one where he'd kissed me, and I'd kissed him back, and something… _something_ …had happened.

And then I'd hit the major panic button.

There's probably a really obvious, perfectly reasonable reason for that that has absolutely zero to do with me and my whole fear of intimacy thing but I can't think of it right now. Probably because I'm too busy running a very detailed, very explicit, highlight reel through my head of the last few minutes I'd spent with Spike.

I reach up and press the back of my hand to my cheek when it starts to burn again, the memory of that very last kiss replaying in brilliant Technicolor. Permanently emblazoned on my eyelids.

I shake my head to clear it and drop my hand, step further into the bathroom and run my fingers through my hair. Twist it into a knot at the base of my neck and step up to the sink. Only halfway aware that I'm avoiding the mirror, I reach forward and flip on the tap, waiting for the water to turn almost painfully cold before cupping my hands beneath the stream and splashing my face once.

Again when that doesn't work.

Then one more time just for good measure.

The last time works. Sort of. At the very least it seems to cool my internal temperature down to a manageable level, makes my face feel not quite so on fire-like.

Which is something.

I don't bother with a towel, just reach forward and flip the cool water back off before bracing my hands on either side of the sink. Take a deep breath in. Hold it. Exhale slowly through my nose. I let the remaining freezing drops of water run down my cheeks as I open my eyes again and look up, staring straight ahead to my reflection in the mirror.

My eyes are bright, wide but totally clear, not even a hint of lusty haze. My cheeks still flushed pink, lips red and softly swollen. I press them together and rub them back and forth, tasting the faint hint of cigarette smoke and mint still clinging there.

Then I groan, close my eyes and lean forward until I'm pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the mirror and sigh, "You're totally screwed."

My eyes fly open again a second later when I hear the sharp knock on the door.

"Occupied," I say quickly, standing bolt upright again. Then rolling my eyes and kicking myself for it a second later for being so ultimately _lame_ , I clear my throat and amend, "I mean…what is it?"

Any shred of hope I'd had that it _might_ be Giles outside the door vanishes when I hear the low, unnecessary sigh through the wood.

"Feelin' better?" Spike murmurs, sounding equal parts annoyed and concerned, which is doing all kinds of freaky things to my body temperature as I stare at the door. God, just the sound of the vamp's stupid voice is enough to bring a new flood of memories rushing back.

My cheeks are already getting hot again.

"Think that depends on your definition of 'better'," I murmur back, reaching for a towel and using it to wipe the last traces of water off my face.

From the other side of the door, I hear Spike chuckle. A low, sarcastic sound as he presses what I'm guessing is his shoulder into the wood.

"Fair enough," he says, and it's quiet for another minute before he needlessly sighs once more. Adds, "Look, we need to talk."

I pause with the towel still covering my face, frowning deeply against the terry cloth and pressing it harder against my eyelids. I'd been sort of afraid he'd say something like that.

I swear, I've never met a vampire so interested in _talking_ to me in my entire Slayer career. True, I've never met a vampire that I've given much of a chance to chat me up in my Slayer career. But I can't imagine any of the vamps I've dusted in the last four years would have wanted to talk to me if I'd given them the chance.

Granted, they probably wouldn't have wanted to get me naked, either.

I sigh loud enough for him to hear it and shake my head, shoving that thought aside and balling the now damp towel back up.

Tossing it down into the sink, I ask, "Since when are you so into talking?"

"Since solvin' my issues through violence started giving me migraines," he answers back without missing a beat, sounding increasingly more irritated by the second. The doorknob rattles once. "Open the door, will you?

I turn narrowed eyes on the offending metal, getting increasingly more irritated myself. "No."

For a second, things go silent. No irritated sighing, no rumbling growls, no trying to break the door down...which I isn't something I'd have put past him.

But I don't hear any angry vampire footsteps stomping back in the other direction either, so I don't think he's given up. It wouldn't really be a Spike-like thing to do, anyway.

Trying my best to be quiet, I tiptoe closer to the bathroom door and lean into it; not quite pressing my ear to the smooth wood, but getting close enough to see if I can hear the increasingly familiar sound of his breathing on the other side. For another long second, there's nothing.

And then I hear the unmistakable clicking of the pin in the lock, and then the doorknob is turning freely.

I take an automatic step backward as the door opens to reveal a very pleased looking bleached vampire now leaning against the frame, a yellow-feathered grin on his face and what looks like something thin and silver wedged between his teeth. And he just looks so smug, so arrogant, so _stupidly_ good looking. I kind of can't decide if I want to punch him in his pretty face or kiss him on his pretty mouth.

I decide to roll my eyes instead.

Spike just winks at me, then presses his shoulder off the doorframe and pulls the metal pin out of his teeth. "What, you think that's the first time I've ever had to pick a lock?"

I watch him as he steps further into the bathroom, tossing the pin into the sink with my discarded towel and shutting the door behind him.

Which puts him squarely in between me and my only escape from the tiny room.

So, that's great.

"You know, I could've been doing something personal in here," I complain, folding my arms protectively over the thin cotton covering my chest and hoping he can't tell how very, very red my cheeks are turning.

"Like what?" Spike counters, folding his own arms to mimic me. "You already showered." Then he pauses, quirking a sardonic brow and the corner of his mouth to match. "Or were you feelin' the need to take a second one?"

I don't think he means for me to catch the flicker of disappointment in his eyes, the hint of it hidden just beneath the mocking tone in his voice. I do anyway.

Not liking the twisting stab it gives me in the pit of my stomach, I cover with a shrug. Ask, "And what if I was?"

Still blocking my path to the door, the vampire shifts back on his heels and widens his eyes in faux confusion. "Sorry, you're tryin' to convince me that I _shouldn'a_ picked the lock?" he muses, pursing his lips and fluttering long lashes against his angled cheeks.

His words should probably make me mad. Two or three days ago they would have. But now, right now...with the look he's giving me and the burning heat in my cheeks and the memory of that last kiss we'd shared still flashing in full Technicolor glory in my mind's eye, I can't get to mad. I can't even get to irritated.

All I can really manage is flustered, which I do my best to disguise as mad as I scoff, "Are you just a complete degenerate?"

Spike's eyes flash in response, flickering from azure to gleaming gold for just a moment before fading back, the expression on his handsome face now pure, undiluted, totally delicious sin as he stares across the small space between us.

"Oh, sweetheart," he purrs, voice honeyed and low, eyeing me through his predatory gaze. "You have _no_ idea."

I swallow hard.

Oh, screwed. So, _so_ screwed.

"Fine, whatever," I say quickly, ignoring the way his words have just made every muscle in my body tighten and pulse hungrily. Then I tip my chin back and raise my eyebrows in an expression I hope passes for annoyed and add, "What do you want?"

The predatory expression doesn't change. If anything, his eyes grow darker still. More gleaming, more mischievous.

"I'm doin' something very wrong if you still don't know," he says, smoldering at me as he closes the small space between us.

And if I hadn't known before, if I hadn't been completely sure that this whole thing with Spike is definitely happening, that it isn't a matter of dancing around "if" but more of a back and forth battle until "when" inevitably shows up and swallows us both whole, I do now.

Which somehow only seems to make me more desperate to push back against it.

I reach up and press my palm into his chest, stopping him before he can get close enough for me to smell the hint of leather on his skin. "You said this was a talking thing," I remind him, trying hard to ignore the flex of his muscles beneath my hand. I widen my eyes purposefully. "That definitely isn't talking."

Spike widens his eyes in return but doesn't move away. "Oh, so you wanna talk now?"

The way he says it makes it sound so dirty, like somehow every action involving him and me equals something all lusty and wrong. I think I'd be more upset if my brain hadn't already been connecting everything with him and me into something lusty and wrong already.

I watch him smirk at me, feel him take a small step closer. My lashes flutter, eyes falling from the icy blue of his gaze to the soft swell of his lips for a second, just one, before flicking back up again. The only hint Spike gives me that he's noticed the lingering look I've just given his mouth is to inhale deeply, press his chest further into my hand.

Our eyes lock again, and we stare at each other for another extended moment.

He's just about to lean in when I snatch my hand away from his marble-like chest and turn my back on him. "There isn't anything to talk about," I say simply.

And then I pause to roll my eyes, because if that isn't the lamest, most obvious lie in the history of all the lies ever told ever, I don't know what is.

Spike knows it's a lie, too. He doesn't get any closer to me, but he doesn't really need to. I can feel his eyes burning into me, a laser beam directly into the back of my bare neck as he exhales deeply through his nose. Gives one low, humorless laugh.

"Oh, I'd say this is somethin' worth talking about."

" _This_?" I ask skeptically, hazarding a glance back over my shoulder at him. Knowing exactly what he means but refusing to acknowledge it just yet. Not ready to talk about it yet. Not ready to admit there even is a "this" _to_ talk about or acknowledge yet.

"Yes, _this_ ," he growls, very clearly running out of whatever little patience he had coming in here to begin with. Then he narrows his eyes at me and leans in closer, the cool of his lips nearly touching my ear as he whispers, "Or were you all set to ignore what happened back there?"

A chill shoots down my spine, quick and hard, prompting a knee jerk reaction that I already know is a mistake the second the words leave my dry lips.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

* * *

Oh, like hell she doesn't.

"Like hell you don't," I growl, eyes flashin' as they scan her face, watching the front she's been tryin' to put up falter.

Buffy balks, blinking wildly as she turns back 'round to face me again. "Excuse me?"

I narrow my eyes, exhaling a short burst of air through my nose as I stare at her. Knew she'd do this, didn't I? The whole bloody reason I'd made the piss poor decision to come after her in the first place was to keep somethin' like this from happening. Keep her from thinkin' too much about it. Keep her from runnin' away. Don't really know why it matters so much to me all of a sudden, whether or not she runs from me. Don't rightly care either. Save the self-reflection for the white hats, I can bloody well do without it. Don't wager it matters all that much why I do what I do anyway.

Always been more interested in the how than the why.

"You think I don't know exactly what you're doin'?" I ask, widening my eyes. There's a spot on my chest still burnin' from the palm of her hot little hand. "Like bloody clock work, you are. Give you half a sodding second to turn that brain of yours back on and you're already runnin' for the bleeding hills." I pause long enough to bite out a sharp laugh, shakin' my head and planting my hands on my hips as I turn my back on her. "Par for the course with you, innit."

She doesn't much like that.

"Don't do that," Buffy hisses, and I feel more than hear her take an angry step toward me. "Don't talk about me like you know me. You don't know me."

I whirl back 'round with another low snort, twisting my lips into a sneer at her tiny hands now balled up into fists. Looking at a practically vibratin' Slayer through narrowed eyes, I murmur, "I know you a lot better than you'd like me to, luv. And a helluva lot better than I ever fucking _wanted_ to, but wager I'm in too bloody deep to do anythin' about that now."

Bugger all, if that innit the exact truth of the matter.

Don't reckon I even realize how true those sodding words are until I hear 'em myself. Until right now. Bloody hell, I'm standin' in her Watcher's ruddy washroom lookin' at the angry flush in her cheeks and the defiant glint in her eyes and all I should be thinkin' about is takin' her apart piece by piece. Instead, all I can think about is how sweet her mouth tasted beneath mine and whether or not the rest of her tastes half as delicious.

Christ, I'm in so bloody deep.

"What is your problem?" Buffy asks, and it's only now I realize I've been starin' at the tops of her thighs.

Really don't leave much to the imagination, those shorts of hers.

Snappin' my gaze back up to her face, I rock back on my heels and raise a brow, the muscle in my jaw startin' to twitch a bit. My problem? Well isn't that delicious. What's my problem, she asks.

 _My problem, you stubborn, beautiful bitch, is you._

 _And whatever the buggering fuck those military sods did to me that's keepin' me from tearing your pretty throat out._

Because that's what it is, yeah? Where the crux of this entire Goddamn mess is comin' from. If I'd just been able to _kill_ the chit when I'd wanted to, been able to sink my fangs into her neck back in the dormitory that night, none of this would be happenin' now. It's that thing what's in my brain, whatever the fuck it is they've put there. Puttin' all kinds of ideas in my head and makin' me do and think things I know I bloody well shouldn't be.

So that's it then. My problem is that I can't kill her.

And my bigger problem is I don't want to anymore.

Shit.

"Don't have a problem, Slayer," I lie through clenched teeth, droppin' my hands away from my hips and tilting my head back, stretchin' out the tension in my neck. Then sigh, "Just thought we'd be able to chat this out like a couple of adults, that's all."

"And we totally could," the Slayer responds quickly, already movin' toward the door. She tries to shove her way passed me, diggin' her shoulder into my chest to maneuver her way around as she adds, "If there were anything to chat about. But there isn't, so…"

Buffy trails off as I catch her by the upper arm, tuggin' her roughly back toward me until our faces are barely an inch away. I pause for a half a mo' just to look at her, listenin' to her heart hammer and watchin' her chest heave, feelin' the way her slender muscle tenses and flexes under my hand.

But she doesn't pull away.

So I lean closer still, inhaling the vanilla scent of her skin and the spicy tang of her blood just beneath it. Whisper, "Can't lie to me, luv. I _know_ you felt it."

My hand tightens 'round her arm for emphasis.

She still doesn't pull away.

Instead, Buffy just stares up at me. Pretty green eyes wide but softer now too, lookin' every inch torn between agreeing with me and givin' in and smashing her fist into my nose.

It's quiet for another second.

Then, "I don't want to do this right now."

And she wrenches her arm out of my hand and lunges for the door.

I grit my teeth, roll my eyes. Follow her. Of bloody _course_ she doesn't want to do this right now. That'd require a little bit of honesty on her part, and Lord knows that's like pullin' teeth wherever I'm involved.

On the other hand, she hasn't denied feelin' it out right so I s'pose that counts for somethin'.

I reach the door just as she manages to turn the knob and yank it open, shovin' it closed again and boxing her in on either side. Her back to my front, caged by my arms, I tell her, "This isn't just about what you want, though, is it?"

She inhales sharply and her shoulders tense up, like she's ready for a fight if it comes to it.

And fuck me if that wouldn't lead to the best bloody shag of my unlife.

"Well, it isn't just about what you want either," she tells me defiantly, turning her face so the heat of her cheek is all but touchin' my lips.

I bite back against the urge to kiss it. Chuckle mockingly instead.

"You're tellin' me," I murmur, stirrin' a strand of golden hair and pressin' myself just a little more tightly against her. "If it were we'd be havin' it off on your Watcher's kitchen floor by now."

I hear her pulse quicken at that, no doubt her anger wagin' war with the desire I can still smell on her skin.

She turns fully 'round to face me now, eyes flashing and clearly not thinkin' much about the fact the turnin' around where she is'll put her nose to nose with me.

Or maybe just not caring.

Whatever. Far be it for me to complain when I can feel all those lovely inches of bare skin is burnin' through my clothes.

Keepin' our gazes locked, she tips her chin back in defiance and nearly brushes her lips over mine in the process. If I didn't know her better I might think she's about to kiss me. But Buffy is bloody Buffy, so instead she narrows her gaze and says, "You're disgusting."

I feel a slow, small smile curve the corner of my mouth.

She is _cute_ when she's posturing, innit she?

"Wager that little insult'd hit a bit harder if you meant it, pet." I lean back a little ways and cock my head to the side, sweepin' my lashes down, lettin' my eyes linger on her nipples as they pebble up beneath the cotton of her shirt. My smirk widens. "You're the one that jumped me tonight, remember?"

I look up just in time to see a fresh wave of blood flood her cheeks.

My fangs itch.

"Yeah, well," Buffy mutters, whirlin' away from me and gripping the doorknob, twisting it and throwin' the door open and she's out into the hall before I can stop her again. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"You weren't," I say pointedly, unruffled, followin' her step for step around the corner and down the narrow hallway leading toward the living room. "That's the bloody point."

She snorts, tossin' a sardonic glare at me from over her shoulder. "What, that I have to shut off my brain to be with you?"

Reckon I like the way she's phrased that a bit more'n I should.

"No," I counter readily, drawing the word out and shovin' that thought aside. "That you weren't thinking about anyone else for once. That was about you and your gut impulses." I watch as she comes to a stop in front of the sofa, shoulders flexin' as she crosses her arms and faces me. "You weren't thinkin', pet, you were feeling."

Her eyes flash.

"Are you done?" she asks me, her voice deadly and low now, rife with implied threat and just below that, hunger. Want. An animalistic heat I recognize in her eyes that makes my cock jump and strain against my zipper.

Am I done?

Not a bloody chance.

"When you were with me back there, you were doin' _exactly_ what you wanted," I say, takin' a step to close the space between us. "And I'll wager it felt good, didn't it?"

Ooo, that one struck a nerve.

She opens her mouth to say somethin' right away, gets about half a word out, then stops. Suddenly, like she's just changed her mind. Snaps her mouth shut again. All the rage in her eyes fades away and she sighs, and I can see it. There on her face, for the first time since I've known her, I see it.

Resignation.

Gotta say, I thought it'd feel a bit better to see it.

"A lot of things feel good, Spike," she says now, her voice soft as she uncrosses her arms and drops 'em down to her sides. "It doesn't make them _right_."

I shrug. "Makes 'em fun though."

Don't know which of us is more surprised when she actually laughs at that, the Slayer or me. Because that's what she does, this girl. She laughs. That nice sound, that tinklin' little bell sound I'd first noticed a couple nights back.

Hadn't really meant it as a joke but whatever gets her to make that sound is somethin' I could probably—

Oh.

 _Balls_.

"Fair enough," she says, offering me a tight, small smile and surprising the ever livin' hell out of me. Then she sighs, rolling her eyes as she drops down onto the edge of the sofa, reaches back to run her fingers through her hair. "Too bad 'always do the _fun_ thing' isn't what's in my job description."

Ah.

So that's it then.

Little miss goody two shoes is frettin' because bein' with me is the wrong thing to do, or against her job as the sodding Slayer, or whatever the hell it is she's so hung up on…even though it's what she wants. Because she's the good guy, and the good guy can't just do what they want whenever they want and bugger everybody else.

Bloody hell, bein' the good guy must be some unholy kind of dull.

"Mmm, too bad," I agree, crossin' slowly over to the sofa, careful not to spook her now she's not running away from me. "Make this destiny you've got a lot more interesting."

Buffy half laughs and shakes her head. "And a lot less useful."

"Think that depends on the use you're tryin' to get out of it," I muse, bitin' my lip and waggling my eyebrows suggestively at her when she looks at me.

"God," the Slayer groans, propping her elbows on her knees and droppin' her head into her hands. "Just when you start to act like an actual human being you say something like that."

"Surprised?" I ask, settling down onto the edge of the sofa beside her, leanin' forward to brace my forearms over my thighs. I glance at her. "'M not an actual human being, luv."

Might be the first time since Dru turned me that I've regretted the truth in those words.

I watch Buffy out of the corner of my eye as she nods in quiet agreement, pulls her head up out of her hands and stares straight ahead.

"Sometimes you make that a little too easy to forget," she murmurs softly. Then exhales loudly, blowin' a stray piece of hair out of her face as she adds, "Things would be so much easier if you didn't."

I arch a brow. "And that's supposed to mean?"

Her gaze snaps back to me, eyes goin' wide like maybe she'd forgotten about me all together.

"Just that…you're you," she says, obviously scramblin' a bit. "A-and I'm me. We aren't…I mean, we can't…it's not like I don't understand what this is all about for you," she finishes in a rush, nippin' back up to her feet and taking a few steps in the direction of the Watcher's pathetic telly set.

I frown, a flash of irritation tightening my chest.

"Yeah?" I prompt, voice low, feelin' my expression darken as I stare at her back. "Enlighten me."

Buffy must hear it in my voice, because she turns back around and looks at me through narrowed eyes.

"Oh, come on, Spike," she deadpans, gesturing. "All _you_ want out of this is one thing."

I realize what it is she's said at the same instant she does.

I watch the Slayer tense up as soon as the words leave her lips, eyes goin' wide and the deadpan expression shifting to stricken a second before she turns her back again. Starts movin' purposefully through the flat and back toward the kitchen.

For the second time tonight I'm just a touch faster than she is, jumping up and over the back of the sofa and cuttin' her off at the pass just before she can reach the kitchen. Put both my arms out to block her path and ask, "You sayin' you want more?"

"I didn't say that," she says, already startin' to turn away again.

Right then.

She's cracked if she thinks I'm about to let her get away with that.

I reach out lightning quick and cup her chin in my hand, riskin' the imminent damage to my nose in order to keep her eyes locked on mine. "But do you?"

Guessin' I'd feel a bit more concerned with how _incredibly_ poncy I sound if she wasn't tellin' me everything I need to know with her eyes right now.

"What do you want me to say?" Buffy hisses, whisperin' at me like she'd much rather be yelling. "I don't even know if I want this, whatever _this_ is." She gestures wildly between the two of us for emphasis, then reaches up and bats my hand away. Starts pacin' in front of me. "It's just kind of a lot, okay? With the you and the me and the kissage. The _really_ nice kissage." My lips curve up at that, only half listening to what she's sayin'. More caught up in watchin' her work through her thoughts than anythin' else. "And then there was the almost sex, _twice_. Which I mean, honestly, is wiggy enough as it is." She wrinkles her nose up at that bit. Bloody adorable. "But then you add in all the other stuff, like you saving my life, and helping with the commandos, and…" she trails off as her eyes finally find mine again, doin' this cute little stutter step as she comes to a stop. Inhales. Swallows audibly and whispers,"...looking at me like that."

Smirking at her, for once not carin' that she's caught me out, I tilt my head to the side. Narrow my eyes and ask, "You want me to stop?"

* * *

I answer him with a kiss.

Honestly, I don't know why. If it's an actual answer to his current question, or an answer to his earlier question, or a way to avoid answering them both in one fell swoop...like I said, I don't _actually_ know. I don't _actually_ care.

Not really all that surprising considering how hard it is to care about much of anything once he slides his hands up into my hair and kisses me back.

It's another one of those sort of bone meltingly slow kisses. Soft in a way that does things to my brain, makes it short circuit and flicker off. But just before it does, just for a second, I think about it again. Think about everything that Spike's said to me tonight. Think about all the things I've said back. Think about the truth in both. He wants me, I know. Hasn't really done anything at all to hide it. And I do want him. And yeah, I do have…some kind of feelings for him, though I think that's about as far as I'm willing to go down that narrow, winding road just yet.

Being with him would be so easy if I'd just let myself do what I want. But I've been down this road before and it's never gone well for me. I did exactly what I wanted with Angel, and that got me Angelus. And then it got me dumped. Again with Parker, and look at all the not so fun places that had gotten me.

I think about all of this in the span of about a split second.

Just a split second, but it's enough.

My Buffy brain snaps back on.

"No," I breathe against his lips, my stupid brain at odds with my stupid hormones. "No," I say again, louder this time, reaching up to shove against his chest until we forcibly separate.

The force is strong enough that it knocks us both into opposite sides of the tiny hallway, nearly taking down a framed piece of art hanging on the wall beside the vampire.

"Bloody hell," Spike growls, reaching around to rub at the back of his head.

I ignore him.

"See, _this_ is why I can't think straight." I reach the back of my hand up and drag it across my lips, hastily smooth my hair back away from my face as I scan the ground. "I-I'm all wigged out and lusty and you and your lips are only making things worse."

"Me and _my_ lips?" Spike asks, incredulous, his eyes narrowed and his chest heaving needlessly like he's just as out of breath as I am. "You kissed me, you dozy bint."

That makes me pause.

Oh, yeah.

 _Crap._

Scrambling, I turn and point an accusing finger at him. "Because you looked at me like that!"

 _Smooth._

"Right," the vampire chuckles, but not like he thinks I'm funny. Like I'm the opposite of funny. Then he rolls his shoulders back and asks, "And I s'pose you're completely innocent in all this?"

I stare at him for a moment, feeling decidedly not innocent at all as I rub my thighs together, try to dull the ache that's begun there.

It doesn't go unnoticed.

"Compared to you?" I ask, playing on the age old _I know you are but what am_ _I_ tactic and bringing his eyes back to mine. "You're the one that's been manipulating me for days, Spike."

This just seems to amuse the vampire, the expression on his handsome face going from annoyed to smug in a blink.

Raising a brow as he lowers his voice and steps toward me, he says, "Think the word you're lookin' for is _seducing_ , pet. And here's a question for you." He stops right in front of me, looking down into my face with eyes that always seem to see right through every defense I put up to shield myself from him. "If you knew what I was doin' the whole time, who's fault is it really if it worked?"

I don't answer him. Probably because there's nothing I can say. He's right and he knows he's right, and he probably knows I know he's right, and I'm just standing here all wrong.

Because having real life, warm-fuzzy, actual feelings for a non-soul having vampire? Big wrong.

"Fine," Spike says after a minute of total silence from me, shifting out of my personal space again. "You wanna go on swimmin' in denial about what's happening here, go right ahead. Won't change a blessed thing. You wanna blame _me_ for everythin'?" He turns a finger on himself for emphasis. "That's fine, too. At least I can own up to what I want."

I glare up at him. "Because that's so difficult for a vamp."

Spike whirls on me in an instant, snarling, eyes flashing gold.

"If you think this is _easy_ for me, you're off your bleeding bird," he growls through clenched teeth, the muscle in his jaw ticking like the countdown timer on a bomb.

He's got me pressed flat against the wall again, my shoulder blade digging into the stucco in a way that feels appropriately painful.

"Still easier for you than it is for me," I insist weakly, suddenly feeling horribly vulnerable. And kind of just plain horrible.

"Oh, yeah," Spike agrees brusquely, narrowing his eyes as he pushes away from the wall once more. "Havin' feelings for you is a bloody fucking _picnic_."

He disappears then, around the corner and down the hall, back into the bathroom before I can even think about getting another word out.

I stand there against the wall, stunned, staring blankly at the picture that's now hanging lopsided where the vampire had been standing just seconds before.

I'm still standing there, still staring, when Giles comes downstairs about forty-five minutes later.

"Good morning, Buffy," he says, yawning as he tightens the belt on his robe and shuffles into the kitchen. Then he pauses, turns back toward me and frowns. "You're up early."

I glance toward the living room and can see the faint white-blue light of early morning from underneath the curtains.

Funny. I'd been thinking I was up late.

"Uh, yeah," I murmur, turning back toward my Watcher and folding my arms. Rubbing my hands along them for friction. "Couldn't sleep."

Didn't even try.

Keeping his eyes on me, Giles reaches for his teakettle and moves to the sink, flips on the tap to fill it. "Is everything alright?"

Is it weird that I don't think I even know the answer?

 _I don't know, Giles._

 _Is it alright that I have feelings for my previously deadly, currently harmless, mortal enemy? Is it alright that said mortal enemy has feelings for me? Is it alright that we were up all night in a wig-tastic back and forth of nearly sleeping together and arguing about why we wanted to sleep together in the first place?_

Because if that's all good then sure, things are both peachy and also keen. Otherwise, well…otherwise.

I'm too tired to deal with either one of those options.

"Yeah," I tell him, figuring it isn't really a lie if I don't know it's a lie. "All good."

Whether he believes me or not, I can't tell. It probably doesn't matter since he's obviously choosing not to press. Instead he nods, turns on the burner beneath the kettle and reaches up into the cupboard above it.

"Tea?" he asks me, bringing out two ceramic mugs.

I sigh, then smile. "Please."

* * *

I'm buggered now, no two sodding ways about it. Right and proper.

Since it's already out in the open I s'pose there's no use in pussy footin' around it. That I have feelings for the girl. That I _care_ about her. About the bloody Slayer. Christ, lookin' at it from this side of things I'm not even sure I'm surprised. Lord knows Dru wouldn't be. And even if I could deny it at this point I doubt I'd bother. What would be the point? I care. She knows it. Whether or not she's quite ready to admit, she's not far behind.

Figuratively speaking, o'course.

Not that I'd been expectin' the chit to come chasin' after me like I had her. Hadn't exactly been nice about it, had I? Besides, s' not like I've forgotten who it is I'm dealin' with. Know she feels like I do, but bloody hell, Buffy is still Buffy. 'S gonna take her a bit.

Doesn't stop me from flingin' the door open the second I hear footsteps coming 'round the corner though, does it?

"Oh," I mutter, frownin' at the old man standing in front of me in a bathrobe and slippers. "It's you."

"Yes, it's me, the man who actually lives here," he deadpans, a fairly impressive amount of snark in his voice for how bored he looks. "I can imagine seeing me is both a disappointment and a shock."

Well, whattya know. Watcher boy might've actually been funny once upon a time.

Too bad I'm not exactly in a laughin' mood. "What d'you want?"

"To not be playing house guest to a master vampire, among other things. Right now I'd simply like to be able to use my shower."

As delicious as the idea normally is, I don't feel much like engagin' in a verbal sparring match with the old man right now. I start to move out of his way instead.

"Careful, Rupert," I warn as I switch places with him and slide out into the hallway. "You almost had a personality just then."

I turn back 'round just in time to watch him slam the door in my face. My lips curve upward.

Guess I just can't help myself.

And speakin' of not being able to help myself, Buffy's sittin' up at the kitchen counter when I turn the corner and walk into the living room.

She's not lookin' at me, hasn't even noticed me come in I'd guess, frowning like she's somewhere deep in thought. Drummin' pink nails against the side of a water glass and dressed in fresh clothes now, same pair of denim she'd been wearin' yesterday and a frilly little off the shoulder thing that I guess passes for a shirt nowadays.

She's got her hair pulled back off her neck, leavin' me with an unobstructed view of the luscious curve of her throat and I have a sudden, near violent need to be near her.

Buggered. Completely.

"Hey," I say, clearin' my throat when she glances up from her water and meets my eyes. They're surprised, but soft. Maybe even a bit relieved.

"Hey," she says back, sittin' up a touch straighter on the stool.

I scan her face for a bit, lettin' the awkward quiet fill the room around us before figuring I oughtta try and break it again. "You feelin' okay?"

Her answer comes quick.

"Tired." She pauses to think. Then, like she's just realized she should ask, "How bout you?"

Takes a bit of doin' to hide the surprise on my own face at that, but I manage, if only to save a last crumb of face here. Nod once, stuff my hands down into the front pockets of my jeans. "Bit tired, yeah."

I watch Buffy nod thoughtfully, turnin' her eyes away from me and back down to the water in front of her. Watch her tap her pointer finger against the glass a couple times.

When she looks up again I spot a flicker of that glitterin' defiance in her eyes I like so much.

"You…wanna sit?" she asks slowly, gesturin' to the stool on her left. Then she shrugs and adds, "We could be tired together?"

Reckon that's about as close to an admittance that she's recognized what's really goin' on between us as I'm gonna get from her just yet.

I smirk at her and nod once. "Sure, pet."

It'll do for now.

* * *

"So it's settled then," Giles says, one hand on either side of the campus map he has spread across the table. "Willow will be just there, hidden behind the tree line on that side of the path. I'll be here on the opposite side." He looks up and over at me. "Buffy, you know where to go?"

I raise a brow at him. "It's my plan, Giles."

"Right, of course," he chuckles lightly, looking a little sheepish. Then turns his eyes out again. "And, uh, Spike—"

"'Stay out of the way'," the vampire repeats flatly from his spot leaning against the wall, giving an exaggerated roll of his eyes as he does. "Yeah, got it. Heard you the first five bloody times."

Giles sighs. Spike hollows his cheeks. I bite down on the edge of my lip to keep from smiling.

It's not a surprising response from the vampire, he's been grumbling about his involvement in the plan, or more accurately his lack thereof, all afternoon. He wants revenge on the commandos for what they did to him and while I _totally_ get it, and more than know the feeling, the reality is he wouldn't be any help at all in a fight.

And me being out there worried about him wouldn't do either of us any favors.

"You're certain about this Buffy?" my Watcher asks, drawing my attention to him as he stands up straight and eyes me seriously from across the table.

"Of course I am," I tell him breezily, meaning it. Then frown. "Don't I look certain?"

"Actually, you look kinda tired," Xander pipes up from the other side of the room where he's taken up a spot beside Willow on the couch.

I turn to shoot him hard look. "And you're helping _how_?"

"Color commentary," he answers simply, glancing around the room before finally looking back to me. "I thought it was obvious."

I open my mouth to respond but Spike beats me to the punch, letting out a low laugh and drawing four pairs of eyes toward him this time.

"And you think _I'll_ be the one gettin' in the way?" he asks with a raised brow, directing the question very purposefully at me.

It had been a complete slip when I'd used that phrasing while trying to explain my plan to him earlier, but the stubborn vamp had latched onto it anyway.

I open my mouth to respond again, but this time it's Xander who cuts me off.

"Nobody asked you, Spike," he snaps, leveling a fairly impressive death glare at the vampire on the other side of the room.

"Oh, bugger off Harris," the vampire in question sneers, pushing his shoulder off the wall and taking a step toward the couch. "You're as worthless here as I am and we all bloody well know it."

Well, honestly, he isn't exactly _wrong_.

Willow doesn't seem to agree though because she jumps to the defense of our friend, narrowing her eyes on Spike as she gets to her feet. "That's not true."

"Yeah?" he counters, turning widened eyes on the witch. Leaning forward and lowering his voice to ask, "That why Slayer's got him on vamp-sitting duty?"

"Spike," I warn quickly, watching him through narrowed eyes from my spot at the table.

He turns and looks at me, brow furrowed. "What, you do-gooders suddenly opposed to the truth?"

"The _truth_ is that we need someone here making sure everything's ready for when we bring our house guest back," I remind him pointedly, unable to keep the edge of irritation out of my voice as I do.

We've had this argument a time or two already today.

"And you need both of us for that, do you?" he goads me.

I sigh and lower my voice. "We talked about this."

"You have?" Xander demands, looking specifically at me like I've sprouted a second head. And maybe a beak of some kind.

I roll my eyes up to the ceiling.

 _Oh, boy._

"Can we just focus please?" I ask, getting up out of my chair and pushing it into the table, turning to face everyone head on. "We're only gonna have one clear shot at this and speaking as the live bait, I'd really like it if nothing went wrong."

The way Spike's eyes flash at the mention of me and live bait in the same sentence isn't lost on me at all. He hates my plan, I know, but he hates this part the most. He's told me more than once how stupid he thinks it is. What he hasn't done is come out and be honest about _why_ it is he thinks it's so stupid but neither of us is really trying to fool the other anymore. I mean, no, we hadn't done any more of the talking he'd been so gung ho about last night, mostly because Giles had been around all afternoon and we hadn't had a chance to, but also because I actually think we've reached an understanding.

A neither-of-us-is-willing-to-come-right-out-and-say-it type of understanding, but an understanding none the less.

"So," I say, trying to look more annoyed than pleased with the possessive gleam in the vampire's eye even though my mouth is twitching into a small smile as I turn and look back and forth between him and my friend. "Do you two think you can play nice for an hour?"

"Don't look at me," Spike says, turning his attention down to the black lacquered nails of his left hand. "I wouldn't waste my time bitin' Nancy boy here even if I could."

I probably shouldn't laugh but I do anyway, quickly stopping when Willow shoots me an exasperated look.

I press my lips together. Oops.

"Hey," Xander whines, oblivious to me and my giggling, turning and jabbing a finger in Spike's direction. "I resent that."

"You were meant to," the vampire tells him matter-of-factly.

They glare at each other.

Seriously, if I roll my eyes one more time tonight I'm pretty sure they'll get stuck like that.

Fed up with the Y-chromosomes in the room, I turn my attention back toward Willow in time to see her finish slinging a bag over her shoulder. Raise my eyebrows at her and ask, "Are you ready?"

"Locked and loaded," she says brightly, then immediately backtracks. "I mean, metaphorically speaking...with the...yeah." She pats the bag demonstratively. "Ready."

"Okay," I say, grabbing my own stake off the table and tucking it into the back waistband of my jeans. "Hopefully this goes quick and easy, I'm planning to actually get some sleep tonight."

And again, I don't miss the subtle but definitely _there_ eyebrow raise Spike gives me when I catch his eye. I bite down on the inside of my cheek and sigh. _Yeah_.

We definitely have some kind of understanding.

* * *

The Slayer can go to hell, and take this ruddy "plan" of hers with her.

It's a stupid plan.

Actually, if we're bein' honest, it's a bloody brilliant plan. Simple, clean, and all things go the way they should, easy enough to pull off.

Not real keen on my girl usin' herself as the worm on the hook, though.

S'pose it's that silly little "honor" code she's so fond of stickin' to what dictates potential self sacrifice is the way to go here, somethin' I'm happy to say I'll never understand. 'S why I'd told her a million sodding times today that it's a stupid plan. And while I'd been under no sort of delusion whatsoever that the girl'd actually listen to me, might've been nice if she'd at least _acknowledged_ it. Instead of marchin' out full steam ahead, and leavin' me stuck here with the Boy Wonder.

Speakin' of which…

"Are you gonna help me or not?"

 _Christ._

Bored with where _this_ particular conversation is headed already, I flick my eyes slowly up toward the boy.

"Was leanin' toward _not_ ," I tell him, glancin' over at the flat's closed front door again. Distractedly dig the crushed pack of smokes out of my duster pocket, tap it out into my palm and toss the empty packaging to the floor.

How long's it been anyway, fifteen, twenty minutes?

Christ, shouldn't they be back by now?

"Spike, I swear to God," Harris mutters, doin' his very pathetic best to sound threatening. "If you don't get your pasty white ass over here and help, I'll—"

"You'll what?" I ask, cuttin' him off and tossing a sardonic glance toward him. Wedging the cigarette in between my teeth. Lightin' it. "Stake me?"

He sneers at me, leanin' down to pick up the heavy set of chains the Watcher'd left out on the living room floor. I inhale deeply from my cigarette and watch as he attempts to lift them.

Funny, that.

"Believe me, nothing would make me happier," he snaps, droppin' the chains back to the ground with a thud. Probably gonna leave a mark. "The only reason I _haven't_ staked you yet…" He trails off to suck in a deep breath, attempts to lift them again. "...is because…" Gives up again. "...Buffy specifically asked me not to."

I freeze in place, blinkin' a few times.

Then reach up and pull the cigarette out of my mouth. "She did?"

Harris doesn't answer me. Matter of fact, he acts like he hasn't heard me at all. Just stands there in the hall, staring down at the pile of chains in front of him like he's tryin' to work out how two and two makes four.

Irritated, I suck in my cheeks, run the tip of my tongue back over the edge of my teeth. Step closer to him.

"She happen to say _why_?" I ask, more loudly this time.

Distracted, the boy looks up at me and frowns. "Why what?"

Jesus Christ, it's like talkin' to a particularly useless brick wall.

I try again, more slowly this time, "Did the Slayer happen to say why she didn't want you shovin' a pointed piece of wood through my chest?"

"We didn't spend a lot of time talking about you, Spike," Harris grits out. Back to his task, only this time choosin' to only lift one of the chains and not all bloody five off the ground at once. Not nearly as funny. "Probably feels some twisted sort of sympathy for you because you've been castrated or whatever."

Bloody hell, can none of these sodding Scoobies find a better way of phrasin' it?

"Bite your tongue, boy," I growl, narrowin' my eyes as I place the cigarette back in my mouth and inhale again.

"At least I _can_ bite," he grumbles, grabbin' hold of the second set of chains and attempting to haul it up over his shoulder. It slips, and I watch as both sets he'd managed to wrangle go crashin' back down, knockin' him off balance and to a pile of gaudy colored clothing and moppy brown hair on the floor.

"Yeah, you're _real_ frightening," I mutter, rollin' my eyes. "Shakin' in my bloody boots."

I pause then, glancin' down at the lit cigarette in my hand. Watchin' the glowing tip, flickin' the layer of ash off the end, I clear my throat and ask, "Did, uh…did Buffy say anythin' else about me?"

"What?" He asks, shoving himself back up to his feet and shootin' me a nasty glare. "No. Why would she?"

So, still not willin' to admit it out loud is she? Then again, it is Harris we're talkin about. Guess 'm not surprised.

"No reason," I mutter, turnin' my gaze back toward the front door. I stare at it hard for a minute like I'm willin' it to open, then realize what a pitiful picture I'm paintin' and turn my back on it. Fuck me, all this watching and waiting…stuck here with the whelp and feelin' bloody useless. And all for what, just so Buffy can have her way? Since when do I bother listenin' to the likes of her anyhow? Don't get me wrong, 'm all for lettin' her tell me what to do. I'd been thinkin' we'd save that for the bedroom is all.

And besides that, has she even _considered_ what might happen if things don't go like she's planned? What happens if things go sideways? What happens if those military brats get the drop on her same as they did me and _she_ ends up in that Godforsaken lab this time? The Slayer's gonna get herself nabbed up or worse, and I won't have done a single bloody thing to stop it.

I finish my cigarette and glance to the side, exhaling slowly through my nose as I watch Harris disappear around the hall corner, bent over, at the waist draggin' the heavy chains with him as he goes.

More'n likely he won't even notice I'm gone.

* * *

One thing I hadn't bothered to consider about my brilliant plan is how much patience it would take. Or how majorly boring it would be.

Because watching and waiting? Really not my thing.

"Well," I sigh, giving the stake in my hand a casual twirl as I glance around the empty quad. "This is fun."

 _She said sarcastically_.

Not that fun had been exactly what I'd had in mind when coming up with the plan, and I'd known that in order for the plan to work it would take a little bit of down time on my end. But I'd be totally lying if I said I hadn't been hoping I'd run into at least one vamp in need of a good dusting during that down time. Not like a horde or anything, but you know…just one. Even a teeny weeny, fledgling type of one.

Anything to work off the tension that's been building in me the past couple days.

But it's been at least an hour now and still, with the nothing. No vampires, no demons, no commandos…no excitement.

I'm just about to call it, head out of the clearing and down toward where Willow and Giles are camped out, when the skin at the back of my neck prickles. Tingles sharply, then rockets a shiver straight down my spine. My pulse picks up and I can feel the hairs on my arms all stand on end.

 _Vampire_.

The familiar scent hits me a half second later.

 _Spike_.

I whirl around to face him, grip him tightly by the leather lapel of his duster before he can say a single word. Swinging my body around, I use the momentum to spin us both out of the open quad and into the dense cover of trees along the path beside it. Drag him by the lapel deeper into the tree line and then spin back, hiding us from the view of the clearing by slamming him into the trunk of a large oak.

Maybe a little harder than necessary.

He definitely notices, chuckling in a slightly pained way as he looks down into my face. "Not happy to see me I'll take it."

"Yeah, I'll take it too." I press him a little harder into the trunk, so unbelievably annoyed that he's deliberately gone against my plan and risked his non-dusty existence by coming here that I almost don't notice I actually am kind of glad to see him. "What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

Spike rolls his eyes like explaining himself is a chore, but does it anyway. "Nipped out while Harris was settin' up in the washroom. Thought you could do with an extra set of hands." He turns his gaze down to his chest, quirks a brow. "Watch where you're pointin' that thing, will you?"

I frown and look down, too, frowning a little deeper when I notice what he's looking at. The tip of the stake I'd been holding in my hand is now pressed precariously into the leather of his duster.

Oh.

Right.

I quickly let go of his lapel and step back, taking the stake and securing it back in my waistband.

"You shouldn't be out here," I say lamely, all too obviously, because…he shouldn't be. "What if someone saw you?"

"Nobody saw me," Spike assures me, reaching up and flipping back the collar on his duster, looking annoyed that I've rumpled it. Then exhales through his nose and adds, "Besides, _I'm_ not the one the government's after. Of the two of us, it's you who shouldn't be out here, luv, not me."

I have to purse my lips to keep from smiling because I knew it.

He _was_ worried.

Which I can spend some time gloating about later. Right now, I need to focus on getting him the heck out of Dodge before the cows come home to roost.

Or…whatever.

"Of the two of us, _I'm_ the only one who can defend myself," I remind him, rocking back on my heels and crossing my arms.

Spike makes a face at me and raises a brow, taking a step away from the oak tree and tipping his head to the side. "Might not be able to hit the sods but I can be useful in other ways."

"Such as?" I counter, widening my eyes.

He opens his mouth to respond right away, then stops. Thinks about it. Smirks at me like he knows I've caught him turns his eyes up to the night sky.

"Alright, so I haven't exactly thought this through," he admits, turning his glittering gaze back to mine. Then adds in a rush, "But I'm here and I'm not goin' anywhere, so I suggest you figure out how I fit into this little plan of yours before our friends show up."

My stupid, stubborn vampire is gonna get himself killed.

"You fit in back at Giles's apartment," I tell him flatly, planting my hands on my hips. "Go there."

I watch both of his dark brows draw together as he leans toward me. "Did you hear a bloody word I just said?"

"Yeah, you said you wouldn't be much use in a fight." I start heading back around the tree, back toward the quad and the prime bait setting bench I'd stationed myself at before he'd shown up. "Go back to the apartment, Spike. Now."

Not missing a beat, the vampire falls into immediate step behind me.

"You'll need a distraction," he murmurs, his voice low and smooth in my ear. Lower now than it had been just seconds ago. I wonder briefly if he's noticed something I haven't, but the clearing is still very much a _clear_ ing when I scan it.

Shooting a skeptical glance at him over my shoulder, I press, "A distraction from what?"

"You don't honestly think you'll be dealin' with just one of those commandos, do you?" The vampire skirts around me, stepping forward so he's blocking my path to the bench. Still within cover of the trees, he furrows his brow and murmurs, "Know as well as I do they don't travel in singles. It'll be a pair at the very least."

This time, it's anger that colors my cheeks.

I reach up and push my way around him, saying simply, "Then I'll fight a pair."

I don't bother to add that either way it really won't be a problem. I don't think right now fighting ten of them would be a problem. I feel better, stronger, than I have in days.

Plus all this unresolved sexual tension is giving me an edge and a hyper focus I've never had before.

Behind me, the blonde vamp scoffs.

"That should work out well, seein' as the last time you faced these wankers you nearly got yourself killed," he snaps, directly on my heels again.

Mimicking him, although badly, I mutter, "The last time I faced these _wankers_ I had a 107 degree fever."

That does it.

"Look," Spike growls, clearly fed up now. He reaches out and wraps his large, cool hand around my wrist to stop me, tugs me back toward him. "I'm tryin' to _help_ you—"

"And I'm trying to keepyou _safe_ ," I whisper-shout, cutting him off as I whirl back around to face him.

Honestly, I think it surprises us both.

Spike just stares at me for a minute like maybe I've just slapped him. Blinking a lot, eyes wide as they search mine. Stunned, maybe.

Then he tips his head to the side, glances toward the ground and murmurs, "Gotta say, wasn't expectin' that."

That makes two of us.

"Yeah, well," I say stiffly, pulling my wrist out of his grip and glancing out toward the clearing again. "Me neither."

And it's the truth, isn't it? I really hadn't expected it. I hadn't expected him…and I mean that in a lot more than just the him showing up unannounced and trying to kill me in my dorm room kind of way.

Obviously.

I mean, no, Spike's never been what I'd call predictable but even then, I don't know how I ever would have expected this from him. Hadn't expected him to pursue me like this. Hadn't expected him to try so hard to find a way through all my defenses.

And I definitely hadn't expected it to work.

I risk a glance back up to his face to find him doing that thing, that looking at me thing. Azure eyes bright and warm, sort of smug and surprised and maybe a little awed all at the same time.

It's making me a little light headed.

His eyes don't leave mine even as he narrows them. Inches closer to me. Says, in that rumbling voice that hits me right in the chest, "But you meant it."

I almost say no.

I change my mind at the last minute.

"Yeah," I murmur, looking up into the tree branches and sighing. Then I sort of laugh, a short, sardonic burst through my lips as I turn my shaking head back toward him. "I guess I'm not ready for you to be dust in the wind just yet."

The wealth of warm appreciation that flickers across his face is worth all the truth of that sentence and then some. Something down in the bottom of my stomach twists and pulls, but in a good way. A million fluttering butterfly wings kind of way.

"Funny way of showin' it, leaving me alone with the little boy," the vampire complains, but his gaze is soft as it moves over my face. He takes another step toward me to close the gap between us, lowers his voice. "If petty death glares could stake."

" _Xander_ wasn't going to do anything to you," I say purposefully, telling him absolutely nothing he doesn't totally know already. I put my hand on his chest and push him back into the dense cover of trees we've somehow moved away from, adding, "Which is a lot more than I can say for our Stormtrooper pals if they catch sight of you here."

Spike reaches up and grabs my hand before I can pull it away, laying his palm flat over mine and keeping it held to his chest. "And why do you think I came here anyway?"

And we both freeze, our gazes locked together and hidden safely from view.

Okay, so it's not the most traditional declaration of the warm fuzzies I've ever gotten, but traditional has never really been my thing anyway. Or maybe I just don't care because this moment feels a heck of a lot more intimate than anything I've been on the receiving end of in recent memory.

And his hand feels so good on top of mine. Tangible. _Real_. Like he isn't about to just disappear, to slip out between my fingers at any second the way I always kind of felt Angel might. His hand is smooth like marble, cool and solid over mine. And right now all I'm thinking about is keeping it cool and strong and solid.

 _Solid_ being the operative word.

I turn my hand around beneath his, wrap my fingers around it and lower our joined hands down until they're resting between us.

A beat passes.

Then, flatly, "It's not safe out here for you, Spike."

Clearly unmoved, he counters, "It's not safe for you, either."

"I'm not going to argue with you about this," I tell him, pulling my hand out of his and making my way back toward the quad. "I want you out of here before—"

I stop short when I spot them.

About thirty feet away from the tree line and facing the opposite direction—Commandos. And definitely not just one of them. Not just a pair, either, but three of them. Three of them clearly trying to be some kind of stealthy, dressed head to toe in all black uniforms, complete with masks.

And guns.

I spin on my heel immediately and open my mouth to warn Spike.

Turns out I don't have to, because he's already seen exactly what I have. Growling under his breath he grabs my hand roughly, pulling me with him as we duck back behind the large oak tree we'd abandoned a minute ago.

"You were sayin'?" he murmurs wryly, his voice low and right at my ear as we peek around the edge of the trunk together.

* * *

Funny how even bein' out here in the thick of it 'm somehow still watching and waiting.

"Ugh," Buffy groans softly from in front of me, wrinklin' her nose up. "Three of them?"

Narrowin' my eyes at the three black-clad bastards, I nod. "Hate to say I told you so, but...well you know the rest."

"At least they're facing the other way," she murmurs with a little shrug, glancin' back over her shoulder at me. "I've got the whole element of surprise thing going for me."

And there's a little peek at that cock-eyed optimism that used to make my stomach roll. Funny how so many things about Buffy that used to make me want to heave now just make me want to wrap my arms around her and inhale the fragrance of her neck.

Then I realize what it is she's actually just said and frown. Shift to the side and hiss, "Don't you mean _we_?"

"No, I mean me," she says purposefully, turnin' back 'round to face me head on. "As in… _me_ is gonna go out there and deal with them, like I planned." Then she pokes me hard in the chest. "And _you_ are gonna stay right here and not get vamp-napped again."

I shift back on my heels and widen my eyes, blinkin' down into her face. "You've got to be joking."

Bird's off her nut if she thinks 'm about to just sit here and watch.

"Stay here," Buffy says sternly, ignorin' me completely as she turns her back and takes a couple big steps out of the tree cover and toward the open clearing.

Oh, no she bloody well doesn't.

I reach for her again, wrappin' my fingers tight 'round her wrist and spinnin' her back toward me. Voice low, I warn, "Slayer—"

She jerks her wrist out of my grip, claps her little hands hard on either side of my face and drags my mouth down to hers. I melt against her in an instant, not forgettin' the argument at hand but suddenly not carin' quite so much about winning it.

 _Fuck_ , this girl's got me pegged.

The kiss isn't a long one, but bloody hell, it's flawless. It's the first time she's kissed me like this. Soft and sweet and driven by somethin' a might deeper'n lust. Maybe not quite the timing I'd expected and sure as hell not thrilled that she's able to read me so well so soon, but it isn't somethin' I'm willing to complain about just yet.

Just hope the daft chit doesn't get herself bagged before I get a chance to.

Buffy's the first to pull away, warm hands burnin' sugar-scented palm prints into my cheeks as her eyes scan mine. Whispers, "If you get yourself killed I'll dust you myself."

And then she's gone, jumpin' up like a shot and sprinting on near silent feet toward the gun toting wankers in the center of the clearing. She reaches the smaller one on the left side before any of 'em even notice, not a bloody prayer of gettin' a shot off before she grabs the end of his gun. Lifts it up, uses the momentum to flip it 'round and smash the butt into his nose. Then she wrenches the gun from his grip and spins 'round in one fuckin' perfect, fluid motion, striking him across the back with her elbow and sending him to the ground in a limp heap.

The sound of their mate crashin' to the grass disturbs the other two, gives Buffy's position away. Not that my pretty little Slayer innit ready for 'em.

Soldier boy's gun in her hands, she raises it and gives 'em both a bright smile. "Hey there."

And Christ, if that's not the most gorgeous thing I've seen in ages.

I watch from my stupid sodding hiding place behind the tree line as both the black-clad commandos raise their guns and aim 'em straight at her. My fingers twitch, dig hard into the bark of the tree and then ball up into fists. A low growl tears from my throat before I can think to stop it.

But Buffy doesn't budge one bloody inch. Stubborn little minx, fearless as ever. Reckless as ever.

Angry as hell.

I can hear her heartbeat from here, can hear how strong and steady and perfect it is. How powerful. Bloody hell, I can almost _smell_ her blood on the wind. That spicy sweet aroma of adrenaline and the hint of arousal, too. My fangs are itchin' in my gums, desire for blood and desire for her and desire to make these soldier sods pay for whatever the bloody hell they've done to me flarin' white hot in my chest. A fresh pulse in my dead veins for all the things I've been denied for days on end now. Fresh blood. Sex. Death.

Too buggering bad for me I know if I want one I'll have to forget about the other two.

 _Fuck_.

The fella in the front, the one I imagine fancies himself the leader of this band of poofters, holds his hand up. In a voice I imagine he fancies sounds manly, says, "Hold positions."

"Mmm, don't tell me," Buffy muses in that obnoxious, quippy little voice I used to hate so much. Like so much else about the blasted girl, it's so bloody fitting. Can't help but smile as I hear it now. "You guys just out for a casual late night stroll?"

"Drop your weapon," the one on the right shouts.

"We don't want to hurt you," adds the one in the middle, the alpha, or whatever the bleeding hell these idiots call themselves.

"You don't?" Buffy asks, tippin' her head to the side. "Funny, cause I kind of wanna hurt you."

I have to bite back an undignified moan at that little gem.

Jesus Christ, she's tryin' to kill me.

Tryin' hard not to look rattled, alpha male drops further into his stance and raises his gun a bit higher. Aims it straight at Buffy's chest and says slowly, "Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air."

"A little birdie told me you guys have been looking for me." She says, ignorin' his command like the stubborn chit she is. Which is fuckin' hilarious. Then she puts on a pout that makes the front of my trousers tighten painfully. "No luck, huh?"

"Looks a little like our luck is changing," the soldier on the right chimes in, laughin' like the smug bastard doesn't know who it is he's talking to.

Buffy, unruffled, widens her eyes. Shrugs once and says, "Looks that way."

And then she shoots the smug bastard without a second thought, obviously just a touch surprised when the gun releases somethin' that looks like a dart instead of the bright blue electric shocks she'd clearly been expectin'. It embeds itself deep in his shoulder, no doubt exactly where she'd been aimin', adorable little white hat that she is. It's barely a second before he drops his gun and falls to his knees, groans loudly, then collapses.

"Two down," Buffy murmurs, turnin' what I'm sure's a downright deadly gaze back up at the last man standing. Then she throws her own gun to the ground, brushes off her hands and plants 'em on her hips. "One to go."

It happens in a flash.

I see him make the decision, hear the way his pulse picks up as he pulls the trigger on his gun just as she dives to the ground. A gorgeous little tuck and roll if I've ever seen one, she ends up curled on her back her right at the soldier's feet. Rears up and aims a powerful looking kick straight skyward. The heel of her boot connects with both the gun above her and the hulking hands holdin' it, a satisfying smacking sound echoin' through the clearing as the force of it sends the gun flyin' a good ten feet back in the direction of the trees.

He makes to run for it but she's up again, blockin' his path before he can get two feet away.

The next few minutes see some truly spectacular hand to hand. Well, on the Slayer's end anyway. At one point he appears to reach for the radio in his back pocket, but my girl puts a stop to that in quick order. Rips it from his hand and crushes it beneath her boot, then throws a hard jab straight into the bridge of his nose to send him stumblin' back again.

For the most part, it looks like she's just playin' around. Havin' a go at him. He can't seem to get a read on her, and she's movin' too fast and landin' too many blows for him to get any in himself.

Far as I remember, this hadn't been part of the original "plan".

Not that 'm not enjoyin' this new version, because I don't wager I've enjoyed watchin' anything as much as this in ages. And besides that, she looks like she's havin' such a nice time. Who'm I to spoil it for her?

I've just settled in fully, crossin' my feet and leaning my shoulder against the trunk of the oak tree to watch the rest of the show when soldier boy finally manages to get a solid hit in. Elbows her hard across the face with his left arm, the first blow followed up immediately with a cutting right hook to her jaw. The first just knocks her off balance, but the second knocks her down to the ground.

I'm off the trunk and out of the tree line before I realize it, the cartilage and bones shiftin' forward as they fall into place, fangs down and eyes flashing. I cover the shortening distance between us, ready to grab this fuck by the throat and tear it out if need be. Not thinkin' a bit about the pain that'll follow.

Not thinkin' much at all, honestly.

Turns out I needn't have worried about it because, like the raging moron 'm sure he is, the alpha makes a lunge for Buffy just before I can get to him.

I watch as she raises her legs, fits her heels flat into his stomach and lifts with her knees, flippin' all six foot four, two hundred and bloody fifty pounds of him over her head like it's nothin'.

She leaps easily back up to her feet as the Hulk there crashes down hard to the lawn behind her, coughing a groanin' as he rolls over onto his side. Attempts to push himself back up to his feet. But his luck's all run out by now. She's already there in front of him before he can even get to his knees, levelin' him out with a blunt front kick to his face and knockin' him out cold.

Buffy glances back toward me, then slowly forward again. If she's annoyed to see me standin' right beside her and not hunkered down back behind the tree, she doesn't say so. Doesn't show it. Jus stares down at the fella on the ground, watchin' the shallow but steady movement of his chest.

I watch her as she takes a minute to straighten her blouse. Fixes the shoulder straps, tugs it down to cover the strip of flat tummy it's exposin' now. Dusts the bit of grass stuck to the backs of her legs and her ass off. Reaches up to wipe a slightly shakin' hand across the split in her lower lip.

It's bleedin', but I already knew that.

Then she turns to me and sighs. "Thanks."

"For?" I ask, shakin' my head, forcibly shiftin' back to my human face before the scent of her blood gets half a chance to really work its way into my system. The near overwhelmin' desire for her's still pulsing in my chest in time with her heart beat. Only worse now bein' so close to her, the familiar sweet scent mingling with sweat and wind. Last thing either of us needs right now is for me to let my baser instincts take over.

Though now I'm thinkin' about it it's all I bloody _can_ think about.

I make the decision to step back, move to the other side of her shoulder so I'm standin' upwind of her. Shrug and add, "Seems to me I didn't do much."

"That's kinda my point," Buffy says, shiftin' her gaze sideways so her eyes lock with mine. Pupils dilated, still hungry and wild from the fight. "You did what I asked and let me handle it." She looks down to the large, motionless commando in front of us and frowns. "Though in retrospect I might've taken things a smidge too far."

I chuckle, diggin' my hands down into the pockets of my duster. "Take it that last little bit there wasn't part of the plan."

"Nope, sure wasn't," she says, inhalin' deeply through her nose. Half laughs as she looks back down to the three unconscious bodies. "But it felt _really_ good."

Can't help the urge to smile just a bit at that, can I?

"Right then, looks like the choice is yours, pet." I pull my hands out of my pockets and cross my arms, scannin' the so-called carnage around us through narrowed eyes. "Which one of these berks is comin' home with us?"

Slayer doesn't answer right away. Instead, takes a bit to look around the scattered bodies one more time. Then she steps forward and bends down, reaching forward to grip the black mask of the soldier at our feet in her hand. Yanks it off in a flourish to reveal an overgrown Boy Scout lookin' bloke with brown, floppy hair.

Then she shifts back, glances toward me and says, "This one."


End file.
